


I Just Need One

by captaincharming



Series: My Problem is You [3]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Everyone deserves better, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, No Cult Ending, and maybe they get it, but it had to be done, i bled for this, ish?, writing this killed me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: “Is he the love of your life?”Joseph is quiet, avoiding the question for as long as he dares. He could have answered her on the spot, in an instant, a chorus of affirmations. But Mary, for all they've been, is still his wife. He's quiet, trying to find a way to spare her feelings, as long as he can be. "Yes," he whispers finally, miserably. "He's the love of my life.""Then what are we doing?" Mary whispers back, sounding just as miserable.Joseph doesn't have an answer.





	I Just Need One

**Author's Note:**

> it took so long, but it's here. i hope it's everything it needed to be. joseph's pov this time

“Christie? Christian?” Joseph pauses, listening for an answer before calling for his eldest. “Chris? Did you finish eating? Do you guys want to help Daddy bake some cookies for our new neighbor?”

The house is silent, save for the murmur of the television in the living room. It’s too quiet for the kids to actually be watching it, Joseph knows, because it's impossible for children to watch their shows at a decibel lower than ear-splitting. Joseph frowns, wiping flour from his hands on the apron cinched around his waist, abandoning the process of mixing dough in favor of searching for his wayward children. Even Crish is missing, though Joseph is positive he was playing at the train table in the corner not five minutes ago. Why is his youngest the hardest to keep track of?

He pops his head in the living room, just to cover his bases, and is unsurprised to find it empty. Joseph sighs as he points the remote at the T.V., switching it off right in the middle of an episode of Justice League he's seen at least five times. Chris has been here recently, then. He's going to need to revisit the speech he'd given on conserving energy, if the kids are still wandering off with the television on. Parenting, he's reminded several dozen times a day, is a full-time job. Per child. Joseph spares a quick prayer of thanks that there'd only been one set of twins out of Mary’s three pregnancies.

There are abandoned lunch plates on the dining room table when he checks there next, carrots untouched but chicken nuggets missing. Joseph almost accepts it as typical, until he sees that none of the ketchup on any of the four plates is disturbed. All of his kids refuse to eat nuggets without ketchup. Something is up. Joseph stops at the bottom of the stairs on his way by, but there’s no noise up there either. He’s only mildly concerned because his kids have a tendency to disappear to pull some prank or other, but they usually confine their mischief-making to the house unless given express permission to be outside. And they hadn’t come through the kitchen to use the sliding door, which means, if they’re out back, they’ve gone through the front door. Joseph sighs, heading back toward the kitchen. This means another lecture, this time about the perils of going out front unaccompanied. Shouldn’t they know this stuff by now?

Apparently they do not, since as soon as he looks out the door, Joseph spots four little towheads pressed together by the fence separating his and Robert’s yard. They’re all kneeling in the freshly-mown grass, undoubtedly staining knees and clothes, necessitating baths and laundry be added to Joseph’s to-do list. It’s always something. Though Joseph isn’t sure just what the something is they’re doing now. He slips out the door as quietly as he can, crossing the yard to stand behind the children as unobtrusively as possible. They’re laughing, crowded around the spot in the fence he’d made a note of when he was mowing, the slat broken off to create a gap between the ground and the fence. It was a clean break, so Joseph hadn’t been worried about splinters or cuts, but he wonders if it wasn’t also a _deliberate_ break, now that he can see exactly what the kids are up to.

They’re poking pieces of their torn up chicken through the hole, giggling every time a small, squished, black-and-white face appears to snatch the treats up. As Joseph watches, Crish shoves a whole nugget through, his tiny hand fitting effortlessly. Betsy, Robert’s friendly little Boston Terrier, takes the proffered food enthusiastically, licking Crish’s hand to make sure she got it all. She looks like she’s lying on her stomach, front legs splayed wide to get her face as close to the kids as she can. They stroke her nose in between bites, sharing the small space better than Joseph has ever seen them share anything. It would be a heartwarming sight, if any proximity to Robert didn’t turn his blood to ice.

Joseph glances over the privacy fence, grateful for those couple inches he grew past six feet that allow him to see into Robert’s yard with just a slight raise onto his toes. The yard is a mess, as always, though ever since he got Betsy, Robert’s been keeping the grass mown. Now the mess comes courtesy of the little dog, toys and what looks like a torn apart cardboard box scattered everywhere. It also looks like Robert might have attempted a small garden, based on the amount of dug up flowers there are. Joseph startles when his eyes catch sight of Robert himself on the porch, feeling caught out for spying, but Robert is slumped in a deck chair, orange tinted sunglasses obscuring his eyes, his chest rising and falling steadily like he’s asleep. Joseph’s kids must have peeked through their improvised observation window and seen him, because they’re keeping their voices low as they croon to Betsy. Still, Joseph doesn’t trust Robert with those sunglasses on. The man is mysterious enough without hiding his eyes. Joseph feels like he can never get a handle on what he’s thinking, especially since their…falling out. Still, better safe than sorry. Joseph crouches down among his children, finally managing to pull one of their attentions away from the dog.

“Hi, Daddy!” Crish stage whispers, obviously trying to obey whatever command his siblings gave him about being quiet. The other three jump, spinning around to fix Joseph with matching guilty looks. Betsy scratches at the dirt under the fence, trying to get them to go back to what they were doing.

“Hi, baby,” Joseph whispers back, running a hand over Crish’s fine hair. He smiles, which seems to put the kids at ease once more. Chris turns back around to keep feeding the dog, but the twins are out of nuggets, both not-so-subtly eyeing the two still clutched in one of Crish’s hands. “What are you guys up to?” The question is unnecessary, of course, but Joseph finds it’s better to try to get kids to admit to things rather than outright accuse them. There are several misdeeds to own up to here, and Joseph would like to get at least one acknowledgement of wrongdoing, just to reassure him that _something_ he’s said to them has stuck, whether it’s about unfinished lunch, not leaving the house without permission, not breaking off pieces of your neighbor’s fence to feed their dog said unfinished lunch. Although he’s not sure they’ve ever covered that last one, so he may need to improv a lecture.

“Betsy likes chicken nuggets,” Christie says, like it explains everything. She makes a sly grab for Crish’s treasure, but he’s too used to the twins’ antics, and moves before she can snatch the chicken away. Joseph is oddly proud.

“I can see that.” Joseph waits, but no other explanation seems forthcoming. “But why is Betsy eating your chicken nuggets when you’re supposed to be in at the table, eating them yourselves?”

That draws a mixed response. Two small shrugs, courtesy of the twins. A bright smile from Crish, who shoves one of the nuggets in his mouth, like it will appease Joseph. And silence from Chris, who’s still petting the dog. Joseph tries again. “And why is there a hole in the fence to feed Betsy through in the first place?”

“I put it there, so you can unclench, preach.”

Five Christiansens look up in sync, and again, it’s a mixed bag of responses. Chris offers a small wave, turning away shyly to pick at the grass. The twins grin, identical dimples etched in their cheeks. Crish laughs delightedly, reaching up toward Robert’s face with the nugget-less hand. And Joseph flushes, full-body, instantly. He curses the involuntary response, curses his loud voice that must have woken Robert, curses Robert. Robert, who’s leaning over the top of the fence, glasses hiding most of his face but a wry smile twisting his lips. He must be standing on a rock or a log or maybe a gigantic pile of cigarette butts, but all that really matters is he’s right there, without Joseph having had a chance to prepare for an interaction.

“You…why?” Joseph asks, just as Christian and Christie say, in perfect, haunting unison “Hello, Uncle Robert.” To Joseph’s consternation, and occasional amusement, they’ve only gotten better at the creepy twin schtick as they’ve gotten older.

Robert winks at them, directing his words to Joseph. “They were teaching Betsy to dig holes under the fence so they could reach her.” He shrugs, seeming unconcerned about the corruption of his dog. “I figured this would be easier on them.”

Joseph, however, is  _not_ unconcerned by his kids’ behavior. When on earth had they found the opportunity to slip away from him, often enough that Robert had taken notice? They were almost easier to deal with as babies. At least they couldn’t get away from him. “I’m sorry,” Joseph says, shaking his head as he stands, almost eye-level with Robert now. “They shouldn’t have done that, and I should have been paying better attention. I can’t believe I - ”

“They’re just kids, Joe,” Robert interrupts, voice soft. “Kids like dogs. You’re not a disgrace to parenthood because your kids were playing with the neighbor’s dog.” He offers Joseph what could be considered a smile, if they still did that sort of thing. “Now the names, those definitely take you out of the running for father of the century.”

“Our names are sui generis.” Christian and Christie speak again in sync, clearly parroting their mother. Robert raises an eyebrow at Joseph, who shrugs helplessly.

“Mary teaches them things. I think she likes it when they freak people out.”

The kids have run out of chicken by now, and their attempts to keep Betsy entertained with noises and pets are failing. She starts to bark at Robert, clearly angling for something.

“She wants to go for a walk,” Chris says knowledgeably, as though Betsy had disclosed this as fact. He’s meeting Robert’s eye, confident when he’s speaking for someone other than himself. Joseph feels that rush of parental pride welling up again.

“You know, I think you’re right,” Robert replies, serious, like Chris is the purveyor of all canine communication. Joseph’s fingers curl into his palms, hard enough to sting, to keep himself from reaching out to haul Robert into an awkward, over-the-fence embrace. “Why don’t you ask your dad if you can help me take her around the block.” His eyes flick up to Joseph’s, almost defiantly. Like he’s daring him to say no. It’s all part of their dance, though it’s become decidedly one-sided in the last few years. Robert pushes, and Joseph concedes.

“All of us?” Christian asks excitedly, squealing when Robert nods, eyes still locked on Joseph’s. The kids bumrush him, pulling at his hands and khakis, pleas and assurances to be on their best behavior blending into a wall of sound. Betsy must sense their excitement, starting up her barking entreaties once more. Joseph lets his kids wrap themselves around his legs, staring at Robert for just a beat too long, knowing surprise is written all over his face. Robert stares back impassively until Joseph looks away, frustrated at the lack of answers behind that enigmatic gaze. He hasn’t been able to glean anything from Robert’s eyes for three years. He’s shuttered and distant, and Joseph can’t blame him.

The kids’ begging has reached a frequency only Betsy can hear, who increases the fervency of her barks. Joseph is overwhelmed and answers in the affirmative, just to get some peace. He gets the opposite. The kids explode into action, racing for the gate, fighting and jostling each other over who gets to lift the latch. Even little Crish gives a good showing, slipping between Christian’s legs to reach for the handle, but he comes up just short, and the twins wrench the gate open with a little cry of triumph. They all go tumbling through only to draw up short just outside, unsure of their next move. Joseph sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before addressing Robert. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

When Joseph glances at him, Robert is watching the kids with a faintly amused expression, leaning against the fence like he hasn’t a care in the world. Joseph isn’t convinced.

“I think I can wrangle them for as long as it takes to wear this bum of a dog out,” Robert says, waving the kids over when they look back at the adults for further instruction. They make their way around to Robert’s gate a little hesitantly, childlike trepidation of the unknown taking precedence over their enthusiasm for the time being. Joseph isn’t sure they’ve ever been in Robert’s house, let alone his yard. He isn’t a ready host for the monthly barbeque, after all. “Besides, they’re afraid of me. That should keep them in line.”

Joseph snorts, drawing Robert’s gaze. “If you think Christian and Christie are afraid of _anyone_ , you’re in for a time.”

Robert huffs a laugh, and Joseph’s stomach does a queer little flip. This is the best conversation they’ve had in ages. He’s grateful for his children’s slow progress across the yard as they’re distracted by the dog, giving him and Robert this time to talk. “And they’re definitely not afraid of you, Rob,” he adds, gently. Quite the opposite, really. Maybe it’s familiarity born of proximity, or his acquisition of Betsy a couple years ago, but all of his kids think Robert is the epitome of cool, regaling Joseph with the stories he’s told them. Joseph’s sure they’re all made up (he hopes they are), but it doesn’t stop the Christiansen kids from keeping Robert firmly in their “Adults Worth Talking About” column. Robert’s carefully cultivated aloof persona is no match for their eager personalities. Joseph lets them talk about Uncle Robert to their hearts’ content, regardless of the way just the mention of the man’s name feels like one of his precious knives is lodged in his own.

Robert straightens up as the kids draw near, looking at Joseph like he wants to say more, but settles for a gruff, “Don’t call me that.” Joseph just sighs, disappointed but not surprised.

“We’re ready!” Christian announces, easily Joseph’s most outgoing child. Joseph isn't sure where the other three get their reservations from. They were raised in an environment where they're practically on display all the time, held up by parishioners as an example for their own children. Then again, maybe it does make sense that most of his kids are shy. It keeps people from encroaching on their space. Except Christian, who couldn't care less. He's bouncing at Robert’s side, laughing as Betsy bounces in tandem at his heels.

“You sure about that?” Robert asks seriously, hands on his hips as he surveys the children clustered around him. “Betsy is a vicious, man-eating, cryptid-hunting beast.” He nudges the little dog with his foot, trying to get her to stop licking Crish’s face and perhaps appear a bit more menacing. She ignores him. Robert takes it in stride. “She's already got a taste for your brother!” he gasps, dramatic. Christian and Christie giggle helplessly. “It's going to take someone really brave, and really strong, to handle her leash.” Robert looks each one of them in the eye individually. “Think any of you are up to the task?”

Joseph covers his mouth with a hand, trying to seem as serious as Robert, but the kids don't buy it for a second. Four hands shoot into the air, Crish possibly just copying his siblings, but he looks excited either way.

Robert shoots him an amused glance. “Brave bunch you got here, Joe.” The kids beam with pleasure. Joseph feels inexplicably like he might cry.

“I’m pretty proud of them,” he manages to say, voice mostly steady. “I think they all deserve a shot at taming the beast.” Joseph believes in equal opportunity parenting.

The kids all start clamoring again as Robert pretends to consider it, earning another cheer when he finally agrees.

“Bye, Daddy,” Christie says, firmly, as much a command as a farewell. The others echo her, swarming around Robert. Robert shrugs by way of his own goodbye. Joseph smiles encouragingly at Chris when he glances back, knowing separation is often hard for him, no matter how badly he wants to go. The other three have no such qualms. Joseph isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

Robert herds the kids toward his back door, talking about leashes and pick up bags, taking Crish’s hand in his own when he reaches for him, the other resting on Chris’ shoulder. Joseph watches them with what feels like a rock in his throat, flashes of could-have-beens behind his eyes. He almost lets them get inside before he calls after them. “Wait! How long do you think you’ll be?”

Robert pauses in the threshold, holding the door, letting kids and dog stream past him into the house. He gives Joseph a slow once-over, distance bringing his full body into view. Joseph belatedly realizes he’s still wearing the apron. The pink, lacy one with flowers embroidered at the edges. Damien had made it for him. Apparently embroidery was big in the Victorian era. Joseph can feel himself turning as pink as his apron, but he holds Robert’s gaze stubbornly.

“Maybe we’ll go the long way,” Robert answers finally, head tilted in the tell-tale way that Joseph knows means he’s trying to hide amusement. “Give you time to finish…whatever it is that requires the getup.” He gestures vaguely, encompassing Joseph’s attire.

“Baking cookies for the new neighbor,” Joseph says, refusing to fuss with the apron. He won’t give Robert the satisfaction of his embarrassment. Robert lives to make him uncomfortable, and while Joseph concedes he deserves some of it, he also doesn’t want to make it too easy for him.

Robert rolls his eyes. “Of course you are.” It almost sounds bitter, and Joseph wants to ask what he means by that, but Robert continues. “It explains the flour on your face, at least.”

Joseph swipes at his cheeks immediately, fingers coming away gritty. Fantastic.

Robert almost smiles, stepping up into the house when the kids come looking for him, patience exhausted. “I like the apron,” he adds, like an afterthought, letting the battered metal screen door slam shut on Joseph’s stunned expression.

Joseph keeps himself busy in the time Robert and the kids are gone, refusing to give into the urge to fret. Robert has a kid. He’s done this, albeit poorly, by his own admission. Val survived into adulthood, apparently thriving in a lucrative career, so Joseph reasons he must be capable of some measure of parental caution.

He finishes two batches of cookies, leaving one cooling on the counter for the weekend’s bake sale while he wraps the other up for a quick trip next door. The neighboring house is finally occupied again, after years of a revolving door of temporary renters. This time it’s an owner, and Joseph selfishly hopes this one sticks. It’s getting old, welcoming someone into their little community, expending time and effort to make sure they feel included, only to see them gone scant months or even weeks later. Also, the lawn maintenance has been abysmal. Joseph’s curb appeal suffers by proximity.

Thankfully, the new family seems delightful, even after an awkward first impression. They’d started over, Joseph had invited them to his barbeque, and everything was fine. The daughter is perhaps a tad rude, but Joseph’s kids go around reenacting scenes from _The Shining_. Who is he to judge.

His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he gets home, multiple texts coming through in quick succession. Joseph has to do a double-take at the screen when he pulls it out, Robert’s name lit up. Joseph’s heart jumps into his throat until he remembers that Robert is currently in charge of his children, and then his heart sinks to his feet. He hastily unlocks the phone, reading the texts three times without understanding a word, all sorts of horrifying scenarios running through his mind. The kids ran off when Robert’s back was turned. The kids convinced Robert to take them to the park, overpowered him, tied him up with a swing chain, and escaped into the woods with Betsy to begin their lives on the lam. Robert took them to a bar and now Crish has developed a taste for malt liquor. Joseph forces himself to slow down before he can start planning funerals, focusing on Robert’s messages.

 

Today 17:23

 

_we’re gettin ice cream_

_before u say anything just kno_

_ur kids are hellspawn_

_2 scared to say no to them_

_this is robert btw_

 

Before Joseph can even process what he’s read, another text comes through. It’s a picture of all four kids with ice cream in their hands, laughing as Betsy licks at Chris’ cone, legs dangling from what looks like the stone wall that borders the cemetery. Joseph smiles automatically. It takes him an inordinate amount of time to formulate a reply, typing out a number of things only to delete them immediately.

 

_~~Looks fun!~~ _

_~~Wish I were there!~~ _

_~~My kids love you and I’m pretty sure I~~ _

_You’re such a pushover._

 

Robert sends him 12 middle finger emojis in reply, and while Joseph is debating whether that warrants a response, he scrolls up in the conversation window. Their last exchange is dated nearly three years ago. Joseph hadn’t been able to make himself delete the conversation, letting the messages transfer over to two new phones, migrating their way to the very bottom of his text list. He stopped looking at them after a while, telling himself it was progress, but really it was just because it hurt too damn much. The most recent texts are from the day before they ( _Robert,_ his brain insists stubbornly) ended things.

 

 _comin home tmrw_  

_!!!!!!!!_

_did u forget me that quick?_

_im hurt joe_

_i said_

_COMIN HOME TOMORROW_

 

_Not a minute too soon ;)_

 

_finally!_

_thought u were dead_

_i woulda been sad if i couldn’t_

_suck ur cock one more time_

_or vice versa_

 

_First thing when you get back._

_I’ve really missed you, Rob._

 

_me too baby_

_more than i should for 3 days_

_you ruined me_

_made me all soft_

_im supposed to be hard_

 

_I’m pretty sure that can be arranged._

 

_………_

_i walked into that one_

 

_You set ‘em up, I knock ‘em down_

_Is it tomorrow yet?_

 

_countin the minutes darlin_

 

The front door opens, bumping into Joseph’s back where he stands frozen in the foyer with his phone in hand, knocking him out of his self-induced masochistic reverie.

“Jesus, Joseph, why are you standing right in front of the door?” Mary grumbles, slipping around him to drop her purse on the entry table.

Joseph clears his throat, clogged with memories, and waves his phone. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

Mary gives him an odd look, over a decade of experience giving her an alarming insight into his moods. He feels the flush on his cheeks, helpless to stop it. Mary chooses not to comment, but Joseph can tell it’s difficult for her.

“Where are the kids?” she asks instead, moving into the kitchen. Joseph starts to follow her, wincing when he sees the plates still scattered at the dining room table as he passes. He stops to gather them up before joining Mary in the kitchen.

“Robert let them help take Betsy on a walk.”

Mary raises an eyebrow at him over the stack of mail in her hand. He shrugs helplessly.

“It’s a long story.”

“I bet.”

They fall into an awkward but familiar silence. Joseph knows he should ask about her day at the shelter, take an interest in her interests, but his thoughts are still with the collection of texts from Robert, both new and old. This is why he hadn’t let himself look at them for so long. It’s a door that refuses to shut once he’s cracked it, allowing all sorts of things to come rushing through until he’s overwhelmed. Regrets and resentments and requisites. His contact with Robert is minimal at best anymore, by mutual, unstated agreement. For Joseph, it’s simply too hard to be around him without wanting to cling to him. He can’t speak for Robert, but he imagines it’s too hard for him to be around Joseph without wanting to hit him.

Robert is angry, Joseph knows, in a way he wasn’t that day in his kitchen. It’s like he needed time for it to sink in, exactly what Joseph had decided, but once it had, it settled down with a vengeance. Robert’s ire is a low-burning one, nurtured and guarded. Joseph feels its flames licking at him whenever they’re near, singeing the edges of every olive branch he tries to extend.

The front door bangs open, startling him and Mary both. If there’s one thing the Christiansen kids can never be accused of, it’s subtlety. There are thundering footsteps, a cacophony of sound, and then all four kids tumble into the kitchen at once in a heap of good cheer and sugar-induced frenzy. They’re arguing because children are always arguing, trying to decide who gets to tell the story of Betsy leaping through the air like a shark and almost, _almost_ managing to snatch Christie’s cone away from her. Of course, they’ve all managed to tell the story before they decide who gets to tell the story, voices getting progressively louder as they talk over each other. Joseph is only half listening, though, looking behind them for their chaperone and his recalcitrant dog.

The kids pause to take much needed breaths, and Joseph seizes his opportunity. “Guys, where’s Robert?” The earlier trepidations rear their ugly heads, conjuring images of his kids racing through the streets on their sugar highs, leaving Robert in their dust.

“Home,” Chris answers simply. As the eldest, there’s a mutual agreement among the kids that he’s their chosen speaker whenever a parent or authority figure directs a routine question at them. If there isn’t a story to be fought over, the kids deem most adult interaction unworthy of their time.

“Oh,” Joseph says, deflating a little. “He didn’t want to come in or?”

Behind him, Mary snorts a laugh. Joseph feels his ears go red, but doesn’t take his eyes off the kids.

“He said it was Betsy’s dinnertime.” Chris shrugs, moving around the island to wrap his arms around his mother’s leg. The other three crowd around her too, demanding attention after an afternoon apart. Joseph watches, more questions on the tip of his tongue, but he doubts Robert said anything more before sending the kids inside. Robert doesn’t say much, period, but especially not about Joseph. From the things Mary’s let slip, it seems Robert refuses to discuss him, point blank, even to make smalltalk.

Mary is giving him a strange look, not quite exasperated, halfway to pitying. Joseph looks away, unwilling to engage in the strange amity that exists between them when it comes to Robert. He almost wishes Mary had been angry with him, was still angry with him, like Robert. Her acceptance of their affair and her all but supportive attitude in the wake of their split was somehow harder to bear than outright wrath. It made Joseph all the more guilty.

So they don’t discuss Robert. And Robert doesn’t discuss him. They share a fence, make polite but stilted conversation at community events, and pretend there isn’t a sea of yearning raging between them. It lashes at them both, though, eroding away the sharp edges of betrayal and hurt that existed in the early days, leaving behind a desperate sort of misery. Joseph sees it in the way Robert carries himself, broad shoulders tipped inward like they’re collapsing under the weight. He sees it in himself, in the way there are lines of worry forming between his eyes much faster than there are lines of laughter around his mouth. It’s all too dramatic by far, too self-centered to think that he’s the cause of Robert’s grief when he’s had a lifetime of heartbreaks to accumulate it, but he’d said he loved Joseph, had wanted…everything. It had been too much to ask.

Joseph slowly realizes there are five pair of eyes focused on him, waiting for the answer to a question he hadn’t heard. “Come again?” he asks weakly, voice far away. The kids huff a collective sigh, like their dad is the most difficult person they know.

“Robert said we did a great job with Betsy and we’re growing up and that kids should have a dog and that we should tell you that he said we should be allowed to have one. And Mommy said we could have one from work if you said yes.” Chris runs out of breath, and Joseph jumps in before the others can pick up where he left off. This is an easy one.

“If it’s okay with your mom, it’s okay with me.”

Joseph may spoil his kids, a little. Why else would you have them?

The kids are cheering, dancing around the kitchen, pulling matching smiles from Joseph and Mary. It’s a genuine Kodak moment, and they don’t have a lot of those. Joseph feels indebted to Robert for facilitating this decision. Joseph feels a lot of things toward Robert, but this one he figures he can act on.

“We should bake Robert some brownies to say thank you for taking you on your walk,” he suggests, knowing the kids will be on board. He catches Mary’s eye for a second, but her gaze is far too knowing for his comfort. “And maybe turn your little peephole into a doggy door, so Betsy can visit your new dog.”

The kids send up another cheer. Joseph knows Robert will agree to a bigger hole in the fence. No one can resist his brownies.

 

_____________

 

Joseph doesn’t actually see Robert for several days after the dog-walking incident, which isn’t all that unusual in itself because Robert tends to avoid him, but Joseph and the kids had gone over the next afternoon with a plate of their best brownies. Robert hadn’t answered the door, even though they could hear Betsy inside. The kids had been disappointed, excited to tell Robert about their impending dog search. Joseph had been carefully indifferent, prompting Christian to leave the brownies on the folding lawn chair Robert pretends is patio furniture, ushering the kids home to get dinner started. If he chose to fix hamburgers and grilled chicken rather than the planned lasagna, it certainly was not because his deck provided a glimpse of Robert’s front door so he could watch for any sign of life. It was just because it was such a nice day out.

Robert had finally shown his face at the Saturday cookout, making a cursory appearance before beating a quick retreat after two glasses of whiskey and 30 seconds of interaction with their new neighbor. Joseph hadn’t said anything to him beyond the introduction he’d made, earning nothing more than a scowl and a reprimand for his use of a nickname. One step forward, two steps back, always. Except with Robert it feels more like the intention to take a step forward, the minute shift of weight in his general direction, then a leap back. Frustrating isn’t strong enough a word for it.

So Joseph does what he does when he needs to clear head; he calls Craig to get the athletic man to run him into the ground for a couple hours.

Joseph’s relationship with Craig is an interesting one. On paper, they have the most in common of all the dads in the cul-de-sac. They had initially bonded over the shared “how the hell do you handle twins?” panic every parent goes through at least twice a week, and as they got to know each other, Joseph recognized the same sort of quiet desperation he felt in his own life holding onto Craig as well. Their sense of duty is well-matched, their commitments to dead-end marriages, their increasing foray into a type of single parenthood. They’d exchanged tired greetings at the park every morning until Craig suggested they start making good use of the time the kids spent chasing each other around, throwing handfuls of mulch. So Joseph had become a jogger, running endless laps on the path around the playground equipment until he could keep pace with Craig most days. Even as the kids grew up and grew apart, the age difference between Craig’s twins and Joseph’s becoming more pronounced when Briar and Hazel started school, Joseph made a point to go for at least one run a week with Craig.

Still, their relationship remained somewhat superficial, even after all these years. They ran, they joked, they talked about work and kids and softball rosters, they got brunch, but that’s all. They didn’t bare their souls or air their grievances or even complain about their workload. Craig’s presence was a distraction from their eerily similar lives. Joseph didn’t have to think when he was with Craig. They shared a comfortable solidarity, content to recognize that this was a friendship of mutual diversion.

Until Craig and Ashley had gotten divorced a year ago, and Joseph was forced to acknowledge that sometimes, people changed their circumstances rather than endured them.

He’d avoided Craig for a while after that, not needing the reminder that there exists a better life out there for those brave enough to pursue it. Selfishly, he resented Craig for being one of them. They were supposed to be in this together. Miserable, unfulfilled, but together. Then Craig had to go and find himself a better situation. Joseph might have stayed resentful forever, except, upon closer inspection, it didn’t seem like Craig had found it after all. He was happier, sure, at first. Joseph could vividly imagine the relief that came with finally admitting the futility of something and moving on, but he also noticed the toll Craig’s newly liberated lifestyle began to take on him. The guilt of breaking up his family. The pressure to make up for it by being the perfect father. The stress of a newly successful business. The demands of a brand-new baby on a brand-new single dad. Joseph had felt envy, then empathy, then resolution, determined to give his friend the same comfort he’d often sought.

The day he’d turned up at Craig’s door in his tennis shoes and red running shorts, Craig had pulled him into a tearful hug, then punished him for his stupidity in that good-natured way of his, working him until he hadn’t been able to stand the next day.

But they still don't talk about it. So they run. They run and they lift and Joseph sometimes wants to cry when he wakes up and realizes it’s leg day because Craig is honestly some bizarre combination of sadist and masochist, pushing Joseph but never as hard as he pushes himself, but it’s good. It’s exactly what they both need.

Except lately, Joseph wonders if maybe Craig isn’t working on getting something else he needs. Joseph’s phone has been suspiciously quiet where Craig is concerned, texts about runs and caloric intake and gains petering out into almost nothing. Joseph hasn’t been worried, knowing the end of the school year is coming up, that Craig’s twins are probably running him ragged with projects and summer planning. Until he happens to be out front early one morning about week after the new guy moved in, and sees Craig standing on his porch, decked out in running gear, River strapped to his chest as usual.

It clicks, then, Craig’s feigned nonchalance in response to his old college roommate turning up out of the blue suddenly seeming much less casual. _Oh_ , Joseph thinks, kicking himself for not realizing, and then _OH_ , when Craig throws back his head with a laugh in response to something his newly emerged, clearly lethargic running partner says. They set off in the direction of the park, Craig keeping perfect pace with his bro’s shuffling jog, obviously holding himself back. Craig never showed Joseph any such kindness.

Joseph’s smile only feels a little forced. Maybe Craig is going to get that better life after all. Joseph refuses to feel betrayed all over again but…come on. Craig is already the pinnacle of physical perfection, something Joseph can only dream of, given his penchant for baked goods. Does he also have to find the kind of happiness Joseph was too scared to take when Robert offered it, all those years ago?

Joseph doesn’t believe in being bitter. Maybe that’s why he’s still trying to have some sort of semi-friendly relationship with Robert, even after all these years of stony silences and snide comments. It’s definitely why he texts Craig that night, suggesting a run and brunch the next morning.

 _For sure bro!!! Actually did it this morning too but you know I’m always down for brunch,_ comes the response, and Joseph resists the urge to text back that he knows. No need to let Craig know he was sort of spying on him earlier.

They meet entirely too early the next morning, Joseph’s kids thankfully of an age where they’re finally sleeping past sunrise. He can leave them be until he gets home, as can Craig with the twins. River, of course, is in tow when Craig picks Joseph up, regarding him seriously from her ridiculously fancy jogging stroller. The perks of having a parent in the fitness industry. They run one of Craig’s favorite routes, up through the woods to a lookout where they can see the sunrise, chatting casually until Craig pushes the pace past where Joseph can comfortably breathe and run.

Craig lets Joseph set the cool down pace on the way to brunch, though Joseph catches a couple of the amused glances Craig sends his way, clearly breezing along. “Shut up,” Joseph pants when they reach the diner, hands on knees, every breath a dull pain in his side. Craig bursts into laughter.

“No judgement here, bro. We’ve been neglecting this for a couple weeks now.”

Joseph shoots him a ‘whose fault is that?’ look, breath still too precious to waste on speaking. Craig raises his hands defensively, River strapped to his chest now in her ever-present sling.

“I’ve been helping my bro get in shape, too. I didn’t mean to let you fall out of it!”

Joseph waves him off, pulling open the door to let him and River in first. “It’s not your fault I have no willpower. You’ve tried to make me an independent fitness buff. I just can’t do it without my sponsor.”

Craig laughs again, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve almost got my bro up to your level, so hopefully he can start going with us and not, like, die.”

“I wouldn’t want to get in the way of anyth-” Joseph cuts himself off, eyes falling to the one other customer in the diner at this ungodly hour.

Robert is sitting at the far end of the counter, empty plate in front of him, nursing a mug of coffee, half-smoked cigarette tucked behind his ear. Joseph has a sudden, visceral memory of burying his nose in behind that same ear, smelling smoke and sweat and shampoo. It floors him momentarily, the rush of _want_ so strong he can taste it, feel it quickening his recently calmed heartbeat, clouding his vision until all he can see is Robert.

Robert, whose head has turned toward the door, whose eyes meet Joseph’s without the shutters behind them for the briefest of moments, like he’s just as startled to see him. It’s been days, but really it’s been years since Joseph has seen him unguarded, and he has just enough time to note the difference before it’s gone, Robert’s attention sliding to Craig. Joseph can see the change instantly, small as it is. Robert draws into himself even as he raises his mug in greeting.

“Hey, Robert!” Craig calls, genial as ever. He walks over to take the stool next to Robert, oblivious to the way Joseph trails reluctantly behind. “What’re you doing out so early?”

“More like what am I doing out so late,” Robert counters, voice gruff with disuse. Joseph swallows against the dryness in his mouth.

Craig is laughing, clearly amused by Robert’s demeanor. Robert is watching Joseph. “You just rolling in, bro?” Craig asks, turning on the stool so he’s facing Robert more completely, back to Joseph, leaving him free to watch Robert.

Robert gives him a half smile, eyes on River now. Joseph doesn’t look away. “Late flight in from Cali.”

Craig nods approvingly. “Gotta refuel after a trip like that!”

Robert nods back a little, less enthusiastically. “Guess I don’t need to ask what you two have been up to.” He eyes Joseph’s outfit with a hint of amusement, and Joseph suddenly regrets the spandex. He doesn’t have Craig’s muscular legs. His might even be described as little chickeny. Robert notices, eyes lingering on his ankles. He’d always complained about Joseph’s bony ankles poking him in bed, but it’d never stopped him from tangling their legs beneath the sheets. Joseph looks down before he makes some involuntary noise, giving himself away.

Craig is talking, happily describing their run and the sunrise and the regime he’d put Robert on if he ever decided to “start taking your health seriously, bro.” It’s a lecture, but Craig is so sincere, so genuine, that it sounds more like a sanction and less like a reprimand. Robert doesn’t seem to be amenable to either. He stands up in the middle of Craig offering his opinion on the right supplements for men Robert’s age, pulling out his wallet and flagging down the bleary-eyed waitress in one movement.

“Thanks, Jen. Take care of my friends here too, huh? Keep the change.” He tosses a few bills on the counter, ignoring Craig and Joseph’s protests. Jen just nods tiredly, clearly a cup of coffee or two away from full consciousness and not thrilled about their presence.

“I gotta sleep. Thanks for the info, Craig. I’ll see ya,” Robert offers, clapping a hand on Craig’s shoulder. “Bye, baby.”

Joseph almost, _almost_ , mortifyingly, responds, biting his tongue just in time when he realizes Robert is talking to the _actual_ baby. He doesn’t make a noise, he’s sure, but Robert catches his eye knowingly all the same. He leaves without another word, Craig’s farewell following him out the door.

Joseph doesn’t watch him walk to his truck that he'd been too exhausted to notice before, doesn’t see him pull the cigarette from behind his ear, can’t perfectly picture the shape of his hands around the lighter as he flicks it three times; old, stubborn lighter meeting its match in an old, stubborn man who refuses to replace it. No, Joseph doesn’t see any of this. He pulls a menu toward him and reads steadily. He doesn’t absorb a single word. He also doesn’t look away until Craig gives a low whistle beside him.

“He left like, two hundred dollars here,” Craig says when Joseph looks his way. “The most expensive thing on the menu is less than eight bucks.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Even with him, me, you, and River, who doesn’t eat grown up food, that’s like thirty. Plus tip,” he amends, glancing at Jen guiltily. She’s still ignoring them.

Joseph shrugs lightly, used to such behavior from Robert. “Maybe he was trying to overestimate in case we were really hungry.”

“Even if we ordered two meals each!” Craig insists. “That’s still like,” he thinks for a moment, eyes screwed shut. "Like a 7000 percent tip."

Joseph laughs, picking at the counter a little uncomfortably. "I hope you let someone else keep the books for your business."

Craig grins, unashamed. "Definitely, bro. But my point stands. Where does Robert get his cash?"

Joseph blows out a breath, considering. It is a little ridiculous that no one but Joseph even knows what Robert does for a living. He’s heard a lot of speculation, most of which he’s sure Robert encourages, like professional hitman, weed dealer, or government plant, sent to investigate Maple Bay’s supposed cryptid problem. Robert lives for setting people ill at ease around him. Joseph thinks he could stand to lose a little of his mystery, at least to Craig.

“He’s a partner in an architectural firm. They’re based out in California,” Joseph says in a rush, before he can change his mind.

Craig’s eyes go wide, ostensibly impressed. “That why he’s always traveling?”

Joseph nods. “He mostly works from home. They bring him out to consult on big projects.” There’s a hint of guilt pressing at him, but Joseph shoves it down. He’ll be grateful for this little moment of vindictiveness the next time Robert snubs him.

“So he’s _not_ an international espionage agent?” Craig doesn’t even try to hide his sudden disappointment. Joseph lets out a surprised laugh.

“No! How old are you?”

Craig shrugs. “My kids like that theory. It caught on.” He shakes his head again. “Partner, huh? He must be pretty good.”

He’s very good. Joseph doesn’t want to share how he knows, memories of the time Robert had reluctantly but determinedly taken him into his office, late one night when Joseph had slept over. He’d shown Joseph some of his designs; beautiful, elegant lines in Robert’s distinctively heavy scrawl, stretched out across the antique drafting table, before he’d stretched Joseph out across the antique drafting table. His hands are incredibly multi-talented.

Joseph shrugs again, dropping his gaze to the menu to hide the sudden blush blooming on his cheeks. “Guess so. He’s been there a long time,” he replies, deceptively casual.

Craig takes a minute to digest this news, finally gesturing Jen over to take their orders. Joseph still hasn’t registered a single item on the menu, so he just repeats Craig’s order, earning himself a pat on the back. Craig is giving him a considering look when Joseph smiles his way.

"You know, I’ve known Robert for like eight years, and he’s never even pretended to want to talk to me about his work. He tells you things, bro."

Joseph shakes his head, denial immediately on his tongue. "As a defense mechanism, maybe. He just heads me off before I can start nagging him. That’s the best way to deal with ministers."

Craig grins. "Nah. He likes you best. You've got that special connection."

There’s no hiding the blush now. Joseph curses his pale skin, knowing someone with Robert’s complexion has a much easier time of appearing unaffected. “No,” Joseph manages to say, ears burning. “I mean, maybe we used to be a little friendlier,” he concedes, trying to avoid an out-and-out lie, “but we’ve drifted apart. I’d wager he likes me _less_ than anyone, now, out of principle. Not the religious type, Robert.”

Craig watches him for a long time, long enough that Joseph starts to squirm, long enough that their food has time to arrive. He watches Joseph like he has something to say but isn’t sure how to put it. Joseph kind of hopes he never works it out. They eat in silence, hunger catching up with them. River falls asleep, head resting on Craig’s broad chest. Joseph adds a generous amount of salt to his egg white omelette, earning a different kind of look from Craig that he ignores. He’s started in on his turkey bacon before Craig finally gets it out.

“Those rumors, a few years ago, about you and Robert. They were true, weren’t they?”

And then Joseph gasps, choking a little, but by God he will not be taken down by a mouthful of this affront to bacon’s good-if-slightly-overexposed name. Joseph gulps water as Craig thumps him gently on the back, eyes apologetic.

“How did you even hear those?” he finally manages to ask, tears in his eyes, voice rough. He coughs for good measure, then pushes the rest of his bacon toward Craig. Never again.

Craig shrugs, looking a little guilty. “A few of the moms on the softball team go to your church. I guess they heard it from a woman there who…uh…saw something?”  

Joseph lets his eyes drift shut, trying not to recall those terrible couple of months following his and Robert’s separation. They hadn’t been together, so Joseph hadn’t felt convicted over telling people there was nothing going on between them, but every time he had to deny who Robert really was to him, it was like reliving that morning in his kitchen all over again. Joseph had been shocked to his core by Robert’s confession, a declaration of love the last thing he’d ever expected to hear from the other man. Of course he knew what they had had been more than an affair. He’d never regretted anything more than the words he’d hurled at Robert, scared and defenseless, trying to diminish what they were before he let it consume him, before he confessed the same thing. Robert refused to let him hide, and Joseph lashed out. Every time he told someone that their understanding of the relationship was wrong, Joseph heard himself telling Robert the same lie. It had nearly killed him. He can't do it again, not even one more time.

“I don't know what exactly you heard,” Joseph begins, voice even, eyes still closed. He feels Craig sit up straighter beside him, like there's any room to improve on his perfect posture. “But the base rumor is true.”

Craig lets out a long breath, hand coming up to grasp Joseph's shoulder. He jumps, a little, but Craig just hangs on tighter.

“Why are you asking me now?” Joseph could understand if the question had come while he and Robert were involved. They weren’t always very subtle. But now…

“Bro, I don’t think you took your eyes off each other the whole time he was here.” Joseph is scarlet at this point, he knows he is. “You’re like, always watching each other. And it’s the weird connection thing, I told you.” Craig shrugs again. “I notice shit.”

“I guess you do,” Joseph concedes, feeling raw and exposed, years after the fact.

“So…are you still…?” Craig asks hesitantly, like he’s uncertain how to finish the question.

“No.” Joseph’s voice cracks, even over just the one syllable.

"So that means…the last, what, three years…?"

"Yep."

Craig makes a sympathetic noise. "Wow. I'm sorry bro.” He pauses, takes a breath. “So was it like…a sugar daddy situation?”

“What?!” Joseph hisses, glancing sharply at their waitress. She’s still pointedly ignoring them, thank god.

“I don’t know,” Craig whispers back, flustered. “You were just saying he’s loaded. And it seems like something Robert would be in to. And isn’t he like, a lot older than you?”

Joseph fumbles for a second, incensed. “I don’t know, I guess it depends on what you consider ‘a lot’!” Craig raises an eyebrow, the artfully styled one. “Thirteen years,” Joseph admits, grudgingly.

“A lot,” Craig confirms, nodding. “Perfect sugar daddy range.”

“He was not my sugar daddy, okay?”

“Okay!” Craig raises his hands placatingly. Then he looks away, clearing his throat a little. “So…then. What...like what happened?"

Joseph shoots him a look, incredulous. "I'm married, it never should have happened. That's what happened." Seems he had another lie in him, after all.

Craig is silent for another long stretch, considering Joseph in that unnerving way of his. Joseph looks away again, refusing to meet his eye.

"Well maybe the marriage is what shouldn't have happened." Craig says it like a statement, not a question. His face is less certain than his voice, mouth pulled into a grimace, eyebrows pinched; tense, like he expects a fight.

Joseph glares at him, fiercely defensive. "My kids -" he starts to say, all righteous anger, but Craig interrupts.

"No okay, yeah, I get that. Believe me," he points to River, still asleep in her harness. "I get that. But maybe they're kind of the silver lining of a mistake, right? I mean, there had to be something big between you and Robert if you were willing to like…" He trails off again, making a helpless little gesture.

“Maybe I’m just a selfish asshole who risked my kids and my marriage on a racy fling with an ill-tempered drunk,” Joseph challenges, nasty to conceal his fear at being caught out.

Craig winces, but presses on, undeterred. “Maybe. But I don’t think so, bro. You’re too considerate for that. Too concerned about everyone else to ever really be selfish.” He fixes Joseph with a meaningful look, taking a deep breath. Joseph braces for whatever’s coming next. “I think you denied yourself and your needs for a really long time, bro, and it took someone like Robert to make you realize that you’re never gonna be able to fill that hole inside you with bake sales and bible studies. And I think that scares you because the wife and the kids and the job were supposed to be enough, and now that you know they never will be, you feel trapped and isolated and you lash out to try to hide it. I’m not trying to presume I know everything about it, but I think you probably wrecked your relationship with Robert on purpose, so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about that on top of everything else. And I think you’re really lonely, dude.”

Joseph is stunned for a moment, realizing anew that Craig is more similar to him than he ever wants to admit, that maybe he has some insight to offer on this situation. That these are the types of conversations they should have been having all along, because Craig is smarter and more perceptive than Joseph ever gave him credit for. That maybe there’s a light at the end of this previously never-ending tunnel, and Craig can help him rip off his blinders and finally see it.

He’s considering asking, even begging for that, when the door to the diner opens and a flood of people comes streaming in. Joseph recognizes them as his own church’s senior citizens’ aerobics class and wants to sink into the floor. He offers Craig a wane smile, choking back the emotions Craig’s speech had brought bubbling to the surface.

“I - thank you, for…all of it, really, but mostly for being my friend. Maybe we can pick this up another time? If we’re going to become the ‘sharing big feelings’ type.”

Craig smiles back, and Joseph notes for possibly the millionth time how kind his eyes are. “Sure thing, bro.”

“And maybe I can get you to tell me more about this old roommate turned running partner of yours? I’m not going to be the only one baring my soul. I’ve got sage advice, too!”

Craig’s smile grows, his cheeks pinking up. Joseph is so glad to have him as a friend.

Craig is perhaps less glad to have Joseph, once the Silver Sneakers group catches sight of Joseph and makes their way over, only to fall to pieces over the baby secured to Craig’s chest, cooing and smiling and chattering. Craig and Joseph only manage to extricate themselves from the chaos that ensues by claiming hungry children at home. Joseph is grateful for Robert’s flippant generosity when they don’t have to wait for Jen to reappear from wherever she went before making their escape.

Craig shoots him a dirty look as they exit the diner, but Joseph just laughs. “Payback,” he promises, “for the pizza parties after softball games. They don’t even care that I’m a minister! Those moms are _vicious_.”

“Next time,” Craig threatens, settling a now-awake and fussing River into her stroller, her cheeks pink from all the pinching and kissing, “I am leaving you at home. Pain in my ass.” His eyes give him away, crinkled in amusement. Joseph just laughs again.

 

_____________

 

The thing is, it's a bad idea. Not only is it a bad idea, but he _knows_ it's a bad idea, which makes it an even worse idea because now he's complicit in it.

It's a bad idea, but that doesn't stop it from taking root, spreading dangerous tendrils of hope through to Joseph's heart from the minute Mary announces she's taking the kids to her parents’ for the weekend. This weekend, specifically, the weekend of the 21st, the weekend of Robert’s 50th birthday.

It's a terrible idea, but that doesn't stop Joseph from making his way to Jim and Kim’s on Friday night, heart in his throat and cash in his pocket. He's not even sure that Robert will be there, except who is he kidding, of course Robert will be there. Even if Mary had told him she would be gone, Robert will be there. Mary doesn't know, the significance of the birthday or the date, Joseph is sure. She wouldn't have gone otherwise. Joseph is selfishly pleased by Robert’s intense privacy, for once, and more than a little smug he'd told Joseph anyway.

The truth is, Joseph hasn’t been able to get Craig’s words out of his head. _It took someone like Robert,_ he’d said, but Joseph knows that at least that part, out of everything he said, was untrue. It wasn’t _someone_ like Robert that Joseph needed. It was Robert, just Robert, only Robert. No one else had been or could ever be worth it.

Still, it's a terrible idea, made clearer by the look of outright disdain on the bartender’s face when Joseph walks into the dingy little bar, scarcely a few hours after Mary and the kids had headed out. His reputation precedes him here, apparently, in Mary and Robert’s inner sanctum. Joseph offers a weak smile as he approaches the bar. It isn't returned. Neil pointedly ignores him, which is fine by Joseph. His attention belongs elsewhere.

Joseph slides onto the open stool next to Robert, heart hammering in his ears. He has to swallow several times to ease the dryness in his mouth, to even be able to form a sentence. Robert hasn’t looked away from the game blaring from the TV in the corner. Joseph sees it as a plus. The element of surprise might be the only thing to keep Robert from walking out on him.

"Happy birthday, old man." His voice is nearly steady.

Robert doesn’t react for a moment, watching a player for the team in red jerseys do some kind of convoluted celebratory dance. Joseph is sure his youth kids would know the official name for it. He has a dance night coming up. Maybe he’ll get them to teach him.

"What are you doing here, Joe?"

The mildest of his imagined reactions. Joseph shrugs. "Mary is away," he says, like it explains anything. “I couldn't let you spend your birthday alone."  
  
Robert shoots him a grudgingly amused look. "So you're my consolation prize?"  
  
"You could say that." Joseph keeps his eyes on Robert’s profile, noting the grey that’s spread from his temples down into his beard since the last time they’d been this close.

"I’ve spent plenty of birthdays alone, preach."  
  
Robert’s tone is flat, emotionless, like it doesn’t make a difference to him. Joseph knows better. He knows how much Robert hates the way things are between him and Val, the way things were between him and his wife. Joseph feels an ache in his chest for the years Robert spent alone in his small, dark house. For the years he’s still spending alone. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He tries anyway. “Well...this one is important.”

Robert grimaces in a way that might be construed as a smile, if you tilt your head and squint your eyes and don’t look directly at it. “Important to who?”

Joseph smiles back, waving an unamused Neil over. “Hopefully to you, because I’m buying. And to Neil, maybe, because I’m probably buying a lot.” He directs his next words to the surly bartender, who seems to feel that if Robert has accepted his presence, he has to, too. He still doesn’t look happy about it. “What do you recommend as a sort of celebratory drink?”

Robert snorts a little, but Joseph ignores him. Neil’s eyes are narrowed, like he can’t work out if Joseph is serious or not. Joseph gives him his most winning smile.

“I’ve got a bunch of tequila I’m trying to unload. Give it to you half-price if you’ll buy a bottle.”

“Give us two!” Joseph insists. Two should be enough, right? Judging by Robert’s incredulous look, maybe not. Joseph doesn’t even know how much a bottle costs. He’s kind of unwilling to commit to three right away, but if Robert thinks...

“You tryna kill yourself, Joe? Just the one is fine, Neil.” Robert shakes his head, regarding Joseph like he’s kind of surprised he’s made it this far in life. Joseph’s cheeks pink up, but it’s not exactly unpleasant to be on the receiving end of Robert’s concern, no matter how condescending. “Salt and limes too. If I’m gonna drink tequila, I’m doing it in shots.” He glances questioningly at Joseph, who just shrugs again, hands folded on the bar in front of him.

“It’s your birthday.”

Robert doesn’t say anything else, watching Joseph as Joseph watches Neil. Before long, a line of shot glasses, a plate of lime slices, and a shaker of salt is plunked down in front of them, no comment from Neil as he moves off to serve other customers, his eyes trained disapprovingly on Robert. Joseph ignores him now, tossing a wink at Robert before grabbing the salt. “Like Jimmy Buffet. Maybe we should have margaritas instead?”

“Jesus Christ,” Robert mutters, stretching to pull the salt out of Joseph’s reach. His fingers brush the ones Joseph has wrapped around the shaker, and he lets go immediately, earning an exasperated look from Robert. He can’t help it that even the slightest touch from Robert is enough to send him reeling these days. Joseph tucks his still-tingling fingers beneath his thigh, watching Robert pour liquid in each of the glasses, shoving half of them in Joseph’s direction when he’s finished. He sets the bottle out of the way and the salt between them. “Buyer goes first.”

Joseph really doesn’t want to admit that he has no idea how to do a tequila shot. He’d been wondering at the purpose of the limes and salt since Robert asked for them, not that he’d ever tell Robert that. It’d be like Robert telling Joseph he doesn’t know the ABC’s of the salvation prayer. Sacrilegious. He improvises. “Age before beauty, Rob, you know that.”

Robert lets out an amused huff of air, shaking his head. “I thought humility was like, the number one requirement for a minister? I’ve seen _Last Crusade_. ‘The penitent man is humble before God’ and all that.”

“While we _do_ try to adhere to the teachings of Indiana Jones, no one is free from sin,” Joseph teases, basking in the warmth of Robert’s wry smile. He’d forgotten how addictive making Robert laugh was. He wants to spend his whole life trying.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Robert says slowly, letting his eyes drift down Joseph’s body, eyebrows raised significantly when he meets his gaze again. Joseph flushes harder, feeling tongue-tied just from having Robert’s eyes on him. “I’ll drink to that. Together,” Robert adds, finally, handing Joseph a shot.

_Damn it._

Joseph takes the glass, then a deep breath, lifting it to his lips and screwing his eyes shut. Robert’s hand on his arm stops him before he can tip the liquid into his mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Joseph’s hand trembles, slightly, at the press of Robert’s rough fingers to the underside of his wrist. A drop of tequila spills over the side of the glass, and Robert guides him into setting it down on the bartop. Joseph misses his hand when he takes it away. “I’m…I don’t know! I thought I was doing a shot.”

“And I thought you were one of those drinking Christians,” Robert shoots back, shoving the salt toward him.

“That doesn’t mean I go around doing tequila shots. I enjoy the occasional glass of wine or margarita but I certainly don’t -- why do you keep pushing this salt closer to me!” Joseph interrupts himself, flustered. Robert just stares at him. Joseph wants to bolt, but he is paying for this bottle. He might as well drink it. Not to mention, this is the longest he’s held Robert’s attention in three years, and he’s not quite ready to give it up. Even if it costs him his pride.

“You salt, shot, lime, Joe,” Robert says eventually, slow like he thinks Joseph is stupid. Joseph scowls.

“I don’t know what that means, _Rob_. So why don’t you just show me?”

Robert sighs, heavy like he can’t believe of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, Joseph had to walk into his, with the express intention of making his life hard. “You salt,” he says, slow again. Joseph would hit him, except Robert is licking a broad stripe across the tattoo on his hand, and Joseph goes lightheaded in an instant, transfixed. He’d almost forgotten about the tattoo. How could he have forgotten about the _tattoo_? It boils his blood even as he watches Robert sprinkle salt on top of his trail of saliva, the sight of Joseph’s mark still as bold as the day it was inked. Robert’s been walking around with his mark for three years. Talk about being humbled. Joseph isn’t even standing and his knees feel weak.

Of course, they both bear their own reminders, Joseph thinks, fingering a sleeve of the ever-present sweater around his shoulders.  

Robert runs his tongue along his hand again, showing Joseph the grains of salt on the tip. Joseph wants to lick them off. “Salt,” he repeats, though it comes out garbled with his tongue hanging out of his mouth like that. Robert lifts his glass again, showing it to Joseph. “Shot.” He throws the tequila back like an old hand, grimacing only slightly as he reaches for the plate of limes, biting one viciously and grinning at Joseph around the rind. “Lime.” He spits it out in Joseph’s direction, who does nothing to stop it from landing on his shoe. He’s still a little shellshocked after the salt step. “Any questions?”

_Can I kiss you?_

Not a good idea. Though the whole night has been a series of terrible ideas that have worked out surprisingly well, so maybe…

“Why?” Joseph asks instead. Robert cocks his head, questioning. “Why do you need the salt and the lime?” Joseph clarifies.

“Because it’s shitty tequila,” Robert says bluntly, ignoring the glare a passing Neil gives him. “The salt gets you all spitty so can swallow easier. The lime soothes the burn. They basically help it all be over faster.”

“You’re making this sound really attractive,” Joseph says, eyeing the line of remaining shots dubiously. Not to mention the rest of the bottle, shit.  Robert just smirks and hands Joseph the salt. “So, okay, so I do the shot?” Joseph stalls. Maybe if he exasperates Robert enough, he’ll stop trying to teach him how to do shots and let him order something actually enjoyable. He still thinks margaritas are the way to go.

“Salt, shot, lime. It ain’t rocket science.”

No dice, then. “Can I just pour the salt and lime juice in the shot or -” Joseph’s question is cut off by his own gasp when Robert grabs his wrist again, flattening his tongue against the entire back of Joseph’s hand, licking exaggeratedly.

“Salt,” he demands, holding a hand out for it. If his voice sounds deeper, it has to just be because Joseph’s heart has resumed its thundering pace, obscuring his hearing. Robert has to be able to feel his pulse, rabbiting under his fingers. Joseph hands the salt over dazedly, right hand still held fast in Robert’s left. The tattoo swims before his vision again as Robert shakes a few grains onto his hand, guiding Joseph’s hand to his mouth to lick it off. Joseph tries desperately not to think how he’s running his tongue where Robert’s had been moments before, but the wetness is impossible to ignore. Robert is reaching for Joseph’s abandoned first shot, pressing it into his hand as he lets go of his wrist. “Shot.” Joseph doesn’t know how he manages not to drop it. He tips his head back, tequila burning its way down his throat. _Sonofabitch_. He coughs, a little, dropping his chin to look at Robert with watering eyes. He’s waiting with a slice of lime between his fingers. “Lime,” Robert says, lowly, fitting the wedge into Joseph’s mouth. A burst of flavor soothes the burn instantly, and Joseph sucks eagerly, tasting the hint of nicotine Robert’s fingers left behind. Robert’s eyes are lidded, unreadable in the dim light of the bar, but he’s watching Joseph with rapt attention.

Joseph belatedly realizes he’s still holding the lime between his teeth, cheeks hollowed around a half-aborted sucking motion. He fishes it out, turning away from Robert’s simmering gaze to toss it on the bartop. He has to clear his throat, still raspy from the alcohol burn, before he can speak. “Another round?” He tries not to sound too eager, like he’s not hopeful for a repeat hands-on lesson.

“More like a dozen,” Robert estimates, shaking the bottle at him. Joseph’s stomach turns over warningly.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

Robert smiles, slow and sly. “Scared, preach?”

Joseph hates that nickname. It feels like a slap in the face after years of honeys and darlins and sugars, Robert’s choice of names even before they’d started sleeping together. It’s Robert drawing a firm line in the washed out sand between them. It rankles, pulling Joseph’s mouth into a frown. He slams the next couple of shots without comment, Robert chuckling warmly in his ear. God, but he still knows how to push Joseph’s buttons, exploiting every chip in the veneer of his composure. Joseph’s only means of ever pushing back consisted mostly of bold touches in public places, whispered promises as he stepped out of reach, teasing glances across rooms. He has none of that at his disposal anymore.

Except maybe he does.

He glances at Robert out of the corner of his eye, ostensibly to check on his own progress in their impromptu drinking competition, but really trying to calculate how best to invade his space without making it obvious that’s what he’s doing.

Robert prepares his next round, setting the salt down on his own right side, seeming unconsciously, placing it out of Joseph’s reach. Joseph smiles, a little. This part has always been too easy.

Inching his stool almost imperceptibly closer, he braces one arm on the bar for balance as he stretches across Robert’s space, fingers outstretched for the shaker. Robert’s arm comes down at the same time as his head as he finishes the shot, trapping Joseph and startling himself. He blinks as he takes in their much nearer positions, tequila shining on his lips, hints of salt and lime juice caught in the stubble around his mouth. Joseph wants to lick him. His mouth is a complete shot unto itself.

“Hi,” Joseph says, breathier than he intended. How many shots has he had? He feels pleasantly light, just this side of buzzed, that place where every idea seems brilliant and every touch is electric. Robert is like a furnace along his side and down his arm. The air between them tastes recycled; like booze and citrus and cigarettes. Robert’s eyes are like twin st-

Joseph’s increasingly corny inner-dialogue is cut off by Robert’s sudden grip on his shoulder. He’s frowning at Joseph, but it doesn’t seem like he’s upset. More confused, or maybe conflicted is the better term. He eases Joseph back into his own space, dropping his hand when they’re decently separated. “What’re you doing, Joe?”

Joseph pouts, though he’s not sure if it’s because of Robert’s manhandling or because he stopped. “I was trying to reach the salt.” He points to it, snatching his hand back when he notices Robert noticing the way it trembles. _Keep it together, lightweight._

Robert retrieves the shaker, placing it in front of Joseph tentatively, like he isn’t sure he should be encouraging him. “Maybe make this the last one for a while, okay? You’re lookin’ a little green around the gills, there.”

Joseph pouts harder, petulantly fixing himself up again. “Who are you, my mom?” he half mumbles around the lime in his mouth. He doesn’t even really need the limes anymore. The tequila is going down a _lot_ smoother now that he’s got a few in him.

Robert raises an eyebrow, grudgingly impressed. “I’m behind, is what I am.” He swallows down two glasses in quick succession, Joseph following his lead, until the six glasses they’d both had in front of them are empty. Joseph doesn’t think he’s done six shots of anything in his entire _life_ , let alone in less than an hour. Is it getting warmer in here? Joseph tugs at the neck of his polo, shoving the sweater aside and fumbling the first couple of buttons open. It’s definitely warmer than it was when he came in.

Robert pauses, one hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, the other gathering shot glasses in front of him. He watches Joseph fan himself with a hand, finally shaking his head and letting go of both bottle and glasses. “Neil, grab us a couple glasses of water, would ya?”

Joseph makes a displeased sound, shoving his own empty glasses toward Robert. “No, come on, I can take more."

“You’ve had enough. For now, anyhow,” Robert insists gruffly, pushing Joseph’s hands away from the various shot-taking accoutrements.

“You’re the one who challenged me! You’re the one -“

“Yeah, well, I don’t always make the smartest decisions,” Robert interrupts. He gestures in Joseph’s direction. “Case in point.”

Joseph clumsily clasps a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “Wow, low blow.”

Robert shakes his head. “Drink your water, Joseph.” His tone is amused, even if his face is stern.

Joseph obeys, mostly because the glass of chilled water is positively heavenly after all that salt. It seems to take an inordinate amount of time to lift the cup from the bar to his lips, so he’s not sure how much time he loses to the task. When he looks back up, Robert has finished his own water and moved on to more alcohol. Joseph watches him take another slug of tequila, straight. The low lights of the bar catch the silver flecked through his hair, but also ease the creases of his face, a juxtaposition of youth and maturity playing across his features.

Robert glances over to where Joseph is staring at him with his head tipped back, eyes squinted slightly. “What?” he asks, suspicious. Joseph sighs, maybe a little longingly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really pretty? I mean,” Joseph forges ahead, speaking over Robert’s spluttered protest, “I’m sure they’ve told you you’re handsome or rugged or whatever, but you’re also so pretty, Rob.”

“Christ on a -- hey, Neil? Yeah, take this.” Robert shoves the three-fourths empty bottle at the bartender. “He’s done.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Neil huffs, reluctantly taking the bottle. “I can’t serve it, even if I hadn’t watched him drink straight out of it when he thought you weren’t looking.”

Joseph glares at him. What a little-

Robert gets up suddenly, fitting a hand under Joseph’s elbow and attempting to persuade him into standing as well. “Dump it for all I care. It’s a grade above swill, anyway.”

“Hey!” Joseph complains, struggling against Robert’s hold even as the world tilts dangerously. “I paid for that! I don’t want -“

“You ain’t paid for nothing yet,” Robert growls, hauling Joseph upright in an impressive show of strength. Joseph stumbles into him immediately, snaking both arms around him for balance. “Just put it on my tab, Neil.”

Neil nods, turning away like he can’t be bothered to deal with them any longer.

“Robert, that’s your present. You can’t pay for your own present!” Joseph slurs. Strange, the harder he concentrates on his words, the less like words they actually sound. His tongue is numb.

“Tell you what, my new present can be your leaving this bar without kickin’ up any more of a fuss, okay?” Robert tries to extricate himself from Joseph’s grasp, and Joseph fights it until he reasons that that may be considered ‘kicking up a fuss’, and he’s already fucked up his first attempt at a gift for Robert.

Joseph snatches his arms back, taking several steps away from Robert, moving toward the door. Halfway there, he makes the mistake of looking down, watching his feet and trying to avoid tripping over anything. The world tilts again as the floor rushes up to greet him, but he doesn’t even get his hands out in front of himself before Robert is catching him around the waist, pulling him back against his chest.

“Easy there, slugger. You never realize how much you’ve had until you stand up.”

Robert’s voice is a low breath in his ear, and Joseph isn’t in possession of enough of his faculties to repress the shiver that chases down his spine. He leans back into the contact until Robert shifts, fitting himself under Joseph’s arm like he was made for the space, one arm still around his waist. Even with the support, Joseph’s next few steps are stumbling. Trust Robert to be right about everything. He should have stopped drinking a long time ago. He turns his face slightly, nose brushing Robert’s hair.

“Is there anyone here I know?” he asks, in what he thinks is a whisper. It’s hard to tell. “Because I’m kind of making an ass of myself.”

Robert snorts, adjusting his grip to reach for the door handle, casting a glance back over his shoulder at the meager crowd inside. “I think you’re safe. Reputation intact.” He acts like he wants to say something else, but barely one step out the door, they bump into someone on their way in.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I was texting and I didn’t -- Robert! And Joseph!”

Joseph lifts his head from where it’d kind of fallen against Robert’s shoulder of its own volition, blinking against the blurriness of his vision until the owner of the voice comes into view. It’s their new neighbor, smiling at them in a curious but friendly way, and for the life of him, Joseph can’t remember his name right now. He thinks it starts with a ‘B’?

“Hey,” Robert grunts, not using his name. Fat lot of help he is. Although if Joseph can’t remember his name, there’s no chance Robert does. He probably never bothered to learn it in the first place. So he just smiles his own greeting, giving a little wave.

“I was actually just going to text you and Mary, Robert,” New Guy says, and surely Joseph’s addled brain imagines the blush that spreads across his cheeks as he meets Robert’s eye. “See if you guys wanted to grab a drink.” Robert seems pleased by the offer, and Joseph feels…not pleased.

“Mary is gone,” Joseph blurts before Robert can respond, drawing himself up to full height and tugging Robert closer in the process. “And we’ve had drinks!”

“Many drinks,” Robert adds, bemused. Joseph shoots him a look.

“Some drinks,” he amends, not liking the amused glance the other two share. “And now we’re leaving.” He makes his tone as firm as he can without sounding rude. Robert rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry, I should make sure he gets home. Raincheck, okay?”

“Oh, sure! You know I’m always down,” New Guy says, enthusiastic. Joseph frowns. Since when does Robert make friends with the neighbors? “Do you need me to come with you guys?”

“No!” Joseph says loudly. Too loudly. Robert shushes him. New Guy looks surprised.

“It’s fine, I got it. I’ll see ya around.” Robert claps him on the shoulder, and the smile is back, directed solely at Robert this time. Joseph fumes, a little, then wonders what the hell is wrong with him. People are allowed to be friends. Guilt nags at him as Robert makes to guide him around their neighbor, prompting him to turn before the man can get inside the bar. Robert curses as Joseph cuffs him over the head, accidentally.

“Hey, you should come by! Not tonight,” Joseph adds, hurriedly. “But Monday! There’s a bake sale. We could make brownies!”

“He runs all the bake sales,” Robert explains, and now he’s the one who sounds put out.

New Guy looks a little taken aback, but not in a bad way. “That sounds really fun. I love me a bake sale.” He pats his stomach, smiling at Joseph now, and the grin Joseph gives him in response is second nature to him by now. He could conjure it up for Satan himself, probably.

“Great, it’s a plan,” Robert says shortly, insinuating himself under Joseph’s arm again. “Can we go now?”

Joseph gives another little wave goodbye, letting Robert drag him away, concentrating very hard not to step on his feet. Robert is silent for a long time, though Joseph’s perception is still a little off, so it could have only been 30 seconds. It’s still too long. Joseph misses his voice.

“Hey, Rob?”

Robert grunts a little, making Joseph frown again.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Robert asks, steering Joseph past the beginnings of a pothole. They’re walking in the street instead of the sidewalk, Joseph notices. It’s a testament to the tame life he’s lead that he gets a little thrill of rebellion at the realization.

“For taking you away from the new guy. Coulda had more fun with him, probably.” They’re between street lights, the residual glow too soft for Joseph to catch the look on Robert’s face when he glances up at him.

“I’m not mad,” Robert says finally, eyes back on the road, alert for any obstacle that could send them both sprawling. Joseph feels warm at the thought of Robert looking out for him. He curls the fingers of the hand he has braced against Robert’s back, gathering a fistful of shirt. The leather jacket is missing, for once. Joseph hopes he hadn’t left it at the bar in his rush to get Joseph out of there. Neil will probably look after it.

“You seem a _little_ mad,” Joseph presses, after another long silence. How far is his house, anyway?

“For Chrissakes, I’m not mad!”

“Well now you seem a _lot_ mad.”

Robert sighs, stopping them in the middle of the street. Joseph tries to adjust the the abrupt halt, clutching at Robert’s arm to steady himself.

“I’m not mad,” Robert says again, softer. “I just…didn’t expect to run into anybody tonight. It threw me off.”

_By ‘anybody’ does he mean me? Was he trying to pick someone up at the bar? Did I…_

“Did I kill your game?” Joseph whispers, a little fearful of the answer.

Robert lets out a bark of laughter, shoving Joseph back into motion. “I swear to god, you’re never touching another drop of alcohol in my presence.”

“Hey, I’m a delightful drunk,” Joseph protests, their cul-de-sac finally coming into view.

Robert looks back up at him, and Joseph pretends that’s affection he sees in his eyes. “Yeah. I guess you are.”

Joseph hums happily, turning his face into Robert’s neck as he guides Joseph up the steps to his door. He’s sad they’re here, wishes for a house twice as far, just to keep Robert pressed close for a little longer. He starts to tell Robert this, thinking it’s a nice thing for someone to hear, anyway, but Robert is propping him against the railing and stepping away, and Joseph’s confidence dies now that they’re face-to-face.

“You good?”

Joseph just looks at him, not understanding the question. Robert sighs again, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“Can you get inside by yourself? Collapse on the couch? Don’t fall asleep on your back.” Robert is inching towards the edge of the porch, eager to…what? Be rid of him?

_Oh._

“Oh,” Joseph says, too drunk to disguise the disappointment. “Oh, yeah I…yeah. I’m totally fine. You can go.” He’s heard about the weepy stage of drunkenness, though he’s never experienced it until now. There are tears welling in the back of his eyes, and Joseph half wishes Robert _would_ go, before they start to fall. _This is nothing to cry over,_ he tells himself, sternly, but it doesn’t make a bit of difference.

“You sure?” Robert checks, brow furrowed uncertainly. But he’s three steps down now, and Joseph never wants him to feel obligated to him. He never wants his pity.

“Yes,” Joseph says, nodding firmly until he feels like he might be sick. The whole night was a terrible idea. “Happy birthday!” he adds, causing Robert to pause on the walkway, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Listen, Joe, thanks for trying tonight. I know we haven’t been…well, you know.”

Joseph waves him off before he can try to finish the thought, blinking rapidly to stem the tears gathered at his lashes. “No problem, no worries, no big deal!” he says in a rush, desperate for Robert to leave already. Robert hesitates for just a moment more, then gives a short nod. Joseph watches him cross the lawn and let himself into his own house, the slam of the door echoing faintly around the cul-de-sac.

Joseph takes a shuddering breath, trying to marshal his limbs well enough to dig his keys out of his pocket. He turns up a handful of cash, unspent on Robert’s present, one of Christie’s hair ties, and what looks like lego Thor’s helm. No keys. He checks again, leaning against the side of the house to keep his balance. Still no keys. He tests the door, just in case. Locked tight.

 _Fuck_.

Joseph lets out a distressed sound, managing two steps before collapsing on the porch stairs. A part of him says that this is the perfect opportunity to get Robert to come to his rescue, but even if he could drag his drunk ass over there, he refuses to beg for Robert’s attention. No, he’ll just sit here. And _not_ cry.

Time loses meaning again for a while as he hangs his head between his knees, fingers clenched in his hair, fighting waves of nausea and decidedly not crying. He knows he could go to Craig’s, but he’d never forgive himself if he woke the girls. He could go to Damien’s, but who knows if he can even hear the door up in his cave of a bedroom. He could go to Mat’s, or Hugo’s, or Brian’s, but the truth is, Robert is the only person in the neighborhood Joseph would let see him like this.

So he sits for an undetermined amount of time, lost to his self-pitying thoughts, until a hand at the back of his neck nearly startles him into the burning bush at the edge of the porch.

“Joseph, what the fuck are you doing?”

He’d have known the hand without the voice, but Joseph still feels awash in relief when he looks up into Robert’s brooding face. The older man frowns down at him, fingers coming up to brush against the wetness on his cheeks. Joseph feels his face go hot, but he doesn’t look away. “I’m locked out,” he whispers miserably, leaning into Robert’s touch until he takes it away. Robert closes his eyes, briefly, fighting a laugh. Joseph wishes he wouldn’t.

“You don’t say. So, what, you were just going to sit out here all night?”

“Learned from the best,” Joseph says back, smiling when he sees Robert’s eyes light with recognition.

“Guess you did,” he concedes, holding out a hand. Joseph takes it unhesitatingly, letting himself be pulled to his feet for the second time this evening. “And now I have to let you sleep on my couch, huh?”

“You don’t _have_ to,” Joseph mutters, feeling slightly more steady as they make their way to Robert’s front porch. He wonders how long he’s been sitting out here. He’s still drunk, but it’s reached the come down stage, fatigue pulling at his eyelids. “It’s not a script. You don’t have to do any of the stuff that happened next.”

Robert is still holding his hand. Joseph only notices when he lets go to pull the screen door open. He curses himself for being an oblivious idiot.

Joseph leans against the door frame as Robert swings it inward, watching from under his lashes. He bites his lip when Robert looks at him, tasting salt. Whether it’s from the shots or the tears, he can’t say.

Robert’s nostrils flare as he takes several shallow breaths, eyes drawn to Joseph’s mouth. Joseph runs his tongue across his bottom lip, deliberately. “Fuck it,” Robert whispers, finally, full length of his body pressing into Joseph’s front as he reaches up to haul him down. He needn’t have bothered; Joseph was already leaning in to meet him halfway.

Joseph remembers their last kiss, vividly, like it happened yesterday. There was the same taste of tears between them, the same hint of desperation driving their actions, the same sense of urgency, like they weren’t sure when they’d get to this again. It was supposed to be never. It’s been three years.

They crash into every available surface on their way through the door, clumsiness born of alcohol combined with a refusal to let go of each other for the few seconds it would take to get inside. Robert closes the door by backing Joseph against it, letting the wood support his weight while Robert’s hands occupy themselves with Joseph’s hair, clutching it hard enough at the roots that Joseph is sure he’ll be missing some. He can’t feel any pain, thank God for tequila.

Joseph tries his best to keep up with the forceful kisses Robert presses into his mouth, but he’s overwhelmed, senses jumbled to the point where it’s taking his best effort just to hang on. His hands grasp at Robert’s shoulders, keeping him close. He meets Robert’s tongue with his own, the taste of tequila on both of them a shocking contrast to the usual whiskey flavored kisses he’s used to receiving from Robert.

Robert must register the difference at the same moment Joseph does, but instead of reveling in it, he pulls away, catching Joseph’s hands when they reach for him, holding them tight between them.

“Wha- Robert, please? Why did you stop?”

“You’re drunk,” Robert says, short and gruff, like the words are wrenched out of him. “I left because you’re drunk. I went the fuck home because you’re _drunk_.”

He still is, impossibly, maybe on Robert as much as the tequila, but what does that matter? He wants Robert when he’s stone cold sober. The alcohol is just helping facilitate the encounter. He doesn’t say this, isn’t sure how much Robert wants to know, what this is supposed to be. He just says, “You drank more than I did,” trying to tilt into Robert, reengage him. He’s held at bay.

Robert stares at him, eyebrows pinched like he’s in pain, eyes unreadable. The house is quiet, not even a fan running to alleviate the silence, so all Joseph can hear is their panted breaths, his own heart in his ears. They look at each other long enough to become unbearable, and just when Joseph is going to pull away, mortified at putting himself in this position, head for home with his tail between his legs, Robert lets out an explosive sigh.

“Not nearly enough. God help me.”

Before Joseph can ask what that’s supposed to mean, Robert yanks him forward by the grip on his hands. Their mouths connect, harsh and messy, and for a minute, Joseph forgets anything that isn’t ‘please, Robert’ or ‘more’.

“This is why I stay away from you, you know that?” Robert pants into the kiss, biting Joseph’s lower lip savagely.

“I thought -- oh fuck, Rob -- thought it was because you hated me?”

“That, too.”

“Can you hate me in your bed?” Joseph asks, trying to sound seductive. He knows it comes out more like desperation. It still works.

Robert runs his hands up Joseph’s arms, catching him behind the elbows to drag him forward, never disconnecting their mouths. He’s a talented man. “I ain’t carrying you, if that’s what you’re anglin’ for.” The words are slurred, half lost in the press of Robert’s mouth to Joseph’s, and Joseph can’t help the smile. Robert’s lips find his teeth.

“Too old for it now, huh?” Joseph asks innocently, letting Robert back him into the wall at the base of the stairs.

“I hate you.”

“I missed you,” Joseph breathes back. Robert makes a hurt noise.

“Don’t, Joe.”

“I just -”

Robert kisses him again, starting up the stairs backwards, pulling Joseph along with him. Joseph can’t focus on speech when it’s taking all his concentration to get up the stairs without killing them both. Robert drags them through to the bedroom, breaking away from Joseph to call for Betsy, who emerges from the pile of blankets in the center of the bed. She shoots Joseph an accusing look as Robert ushers her out of the room, closing the door in her scandalized little face.

“Great, now she hates me too,” Joseph whines, letting Robert wrestle him out of his shirt, booze rendering him nearly useless in his own attempts. Robert gets them both down to boxers and stops. They stare at each other in the dark room, curtains that are flung wide the only source of light. They’re cataloguing changes, looking for discrepancies in their memories of each other’s bodies. Robert reaches out first, tracing two faint, parallel burn marks on Joseph’s right hip. “Fishing trip to the lake with Brian and Daisy,” he offers, when Robert looks to him for an explanation. “Christian got me with the marshmallow roaster.” He shakes his head, laughing a little. “Never should have let Brian talk me into jumping in the water in my clothes. My shirt was drying.”

Robert smiles faintly, still running his fingers over the raised skin. “Chicks dig scars.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Joseph says, stepping into Robert’s space, fitting two fingers beneath his jaw to tip his chin up for another kiss. Robert’s hand slides across his hip to the small of his back, pulling them flush. Joseph’s only half-hard at this point, damn alcohol still coursing through his veins, but the contact is good enough to get him moaning. Robert kisses him in that smothering way of his, robbing Joseph of air until Robert shoves him away, letting the bed break his fall this time.

The world swims as Robert crawls over him. It’s all Joseph can do to meet his eyes, black spots in his vision, head suddenly pounding.

Robert’s face looms before him, expression changed, shifting from hunger to concern in the space of a heartbeat. “You okay, baby?”

Joseph tries to reassure him, but suddenly even the effort of opening his mouth is more than he can handle at the moment. He lets his eyes slip shut, just for a second, just to get his bearings…

He stirs, a little, when he feels himself being jostled, casting a hand blindly for Robert. Robert, who’s swinging his legs into the bed, tucking a light sheet around him. “No, I’m good, we’re good, come back,” Joseph mumbles, finally catching hold of Robert’s wrist. He tugs weakly. Robert follows, stretching up the bed towards his head, propping himself up on one hand.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers back, mournfully. “Drink this.” He supports Joseph’s head as he tips a glass of water down his throat, setting the glass on the floor when it’s empty. Joseph keeps ahold of his wrist throughout, using it to urge him back.

“I’m good,” he insists, stubbornly, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Kiss me, come on, just…”

Robert kisses him, slow, scraping teeth against his lips and stubble against his jaw. It’s good, it’s soothing, Joseph could do this forever.

He drifts again, barely aware of the bounce of the bed when Robert flops on his back beside him.

”Fuck, _”_ Robert sighs, softly. It’s the last thing Joseph hears before sleep claims him.

 

_____________

 

Everything hurts. Joseph isn’t even sure he’s still alive because surely no one could survive this kind of pain. He tried to open his eyes, maybe five minutes ago, and his head hasn’t stopped screaming at him yet. The only thing that makes him think he might not be dead is the spot of warmth on his chest. It’s…fuzzy? Like hair.

 _Robert_ , his impaired brain supplies. That’s surprisingly logical. Joseph may have lost his ability to function as human being, but he hasn’t lost his memories from last night. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop kicking himself for falling asleep. For getting so drunk. For screwing up what might have been his best chance to…to…something. Tell Robert. Something. Definitely touch Robert. Kiss him. Hold his hand and bite his neck and -

The weight on his chest shifts, moving away, and Joseph manages a displeased sound, turning his face toward the movement, eyes pinched shut. He tries to reach out, but his arms won’t cooperate. It’s like his entire body is offline.

Thankfully, Robert gets the message, mattress dipping near Joseph’s head as he moves closer. It’s a bad movement. Joseph’s head throbs. Robert licks his temple soothingly. Then his eyebrow, which, admittedly, feels a little weird. And surprisingly wet? The licking continues, down his nose and across his cheek until there’s a big, wet stripe painted over his mouth. And that’s definitely not Robert’s tongue.

Joseph’s eyes fly open in time for Betsy to aim another broad lick at his lips. His arms regain their mobility in a disgusted bid to derail the little dog. He sputters helplessly, catching a tongue to the ear, the elbow, the nostril. In his weakened state, it’s a battle Joseph can’t hope to win. He’s settled back into the mattress, ready to accept defeat, when there’s a sharp whistle from the doorway. Which, ow, yeah the headache is still there, despite Betsy’s ministrations.

“Betsy!” Robert scolds, sounding more amused than disciplinary. “Off, right now.”  

Betsy hops down from the bed, off on her merry way, nonchalant as ever. Joseph is not sad to see her go, especially when Robert takes her place beside him, tentatively reaching out to place a hand on his bare stomach. Joseph smiles at him. Robert’s touch grows a little bolder at the encouragement.

"You know, I was making out with her for a solid minute before I realized she wasn't you."

Robert laughs, loud like he does when he's caught off guard. Joseph's heart swells. Nothing is like making Robert laugh. "Oh yeah? What finally tipped you off?"

Joseph purses his lips, pretending to think, but really trying to conceal his smile. "I'm not sure," he hedges, tone serious.

"The hair?" Robert prompts, still sounding amused. He runs his hand in absent patterns from Joseph’s hip bone to the base of his throat.

Joseph lets a slow smile crawl across his face, reaching out to brush a hand against Robert’s stubbled jaw. "No, that's remarkably similar." Robert pinches him, a little.

"The smell?" he tries again.

Joseph leans in, making like he means to sniff him. "You know, again, it's remarkably simil- Robert!"

Robert tackles him into the bed as Joseph screeches. Using Joseph’s hangover-induced lethargy to his advantage, Robert holds him down and licks him, all over his face.

"You're just proving my point, you beast!"

Robert pulls back, red-face and grinning, and Joseph’s stomach turns over in a way that’s unrelated to his binger last night. Robert’s eyes are ringed in sleep-deprived bruises, but he looks alive, lit from within like Joseph hasn’t seen in a while. His heart flutters, high in his throat, when Robert brings one of the hands still caught in his grip to his mouth, kissing the center of Joseph’s palm before letting go and sitting up. Joseph moves with him, ignoring the heaviness in his limbs to rest his forehead in the center of Robert’s back. He’s wearing a threadbare t-shirt that does little to conceal the warmth of his skin, and Joseph nuzzles him, a little, seeking his scent.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Joseph whispers, reluctant to break the peaceful silence they’ve settled into, breathing syncing up, comfortable. But he feels wretched, not just physically. He needs Robert to know he hadn’t planned for things to work out like this.

Robert shrugs, unconcerned, taking care not to dislodge Joseph’s weight against his back. “It happens.”

“It shouldn’t have,” Joseph insists. He fumbles for the words, unsure how to tell Robert what he’s been feeling lately. “That was just…not how I expected last night to go. It’s definitely not how I _planned_ for it to go, anyway.”

Like every time he’s stuck his foot in it with Robert, Joseph knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Robert stiffens, sliding away from the press of Joseph’s body against his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joseph falters, maybe a beat too long. Robert stands up, turning around to glare down at Joseph. “I just…I wasn’t going to…this wasn’t what I wanted, well, _how_ I wanted -”

“Got it,” Robert cuts him off, disgust coloring the edges of his words. “Good thing you passed out before you could get real sinful with it, right? Got nothin’ to feel _too_ guilty over.”

“Robert,” Joseph pleads, reaching for him where he stands, arms crossed, barefoot in navy cargo pants and that sweet-smelling shirt. “That’s not what I meant, I just meant I didn’t come out last night with the intention of -”

“Got it,” Robert says again, stepping out of Joseph’s reach. “Tequila makes everyone a slut, Joe, don’t worry about it.” Ignoring Joseph’s protests, he turns away, finding and stepping into his boots. “Why don’t you head on home and forget this ever happened, huh? Shouldn’t be that hard, master of denial that you are.”

“Robert, what are you -- where are you going?”

Robert pauses in the bedroom door, looking back at Joseph with dead eyes. It freezes Joseph in his tracks, halfway out of the bed after him.

“Betsy’s waiting for her walk,” he says cooly, no inflection in his voice. “Should’ve told ya last night, your spare key is still on the hook in the kitchen. So this,” his gesture encompasses himself, Joseph, the unmade bed, “is at least half my fault. Don’t beat yourself up too bad.” The last line is delivered with a sneer, the ugly expression sitting unnaturally on Robert’s handsome face.

Joseph scrambles to catch him before he steps out the door, sheets tangling around his leg. “Robert, wait!” As soon as he’s upright, Joseph’s nearly knocked flat again by a sudden rush of nausea. It’s all he can do to make it to Robert’s en-suite before he’s sick, clutching the edges of the toilet with shaking fingers and clammy palms. He hears the front door slam between bouts of illness, closing his eyes in defeat.

 _Fuck_.

He rests with head on the cool, porcelain edge of the bathtub, unwilling to risk keeping his face near Robert’s toilet for any period of time. It’s probably never seen bleach in its life. He blames the alcohol for all of it, finally understanding why many Christians choose to abstain from drinking. No good ever comes from it.

Joseph knows he’s potentially ruined things with Robert, for good this time. This isn’t how any of it was supposed to go. The plan, if it could even be referred to as such, had been to build their friendship back, through gestures like last night’s trip to the bar. To get Robert comfortable with him again, establish a truce of sorts. To feel him out, see if he was even open to the potential of revisiting their previous relationship.

_Apparently he was._

But he’d blown it. He’d gone about it all wrong, then rendered himself incapable of coherent thought at the time he’d needed it most. Why couldn’t he have spoken quicker, used different words, made Robert _understand_? Better yet, why couldn’t he have sorted out his life before coming to Robert at all? Why can’t he force himself to have a conversation with Mary about the hopelessness of their situation? Why can’t he be more like Craig? Craig, who started him thinking about all this again, who stirred up all these feelings Joseph had worked so hard to repress; Craig, who is number two on the list of people Joseph hates right now, right below himself.

He allows himself a few more minutes of self-flagellation before he forces himself to his feet. Robert is probably expecting him gone before he gets back, and honestly Joseph is in no condition to deal with the fallout from their conversation. It’s better for everyone if he just goes home.

The sight of the key he’d had specially made for Robert, the one that features a beach scene design (“ _It’s Margaritazone in key form, Rob!)_ , hanging innocuously among the random other keys on the beat up ‘I’m the key to your heart’ keyholder Val had made in either kindergarten or first grade, judging by the picture of her glued right in the center, solidifies the magnitude of Joseph’s mistakes; not just last night, or this morning, but before and constantly where Robert is concerned. There’s a place for him, there’s always been a place for him, here amid the detritus that is Robert’s life. He just keeps finding ways to fuck it up.

Joseph leaves the key, having irrevocably formed a symbolic connection to its presence in Robert’s home. He pries open the trick lock of the first floor bathroom window, wobbling his way through, standing precariously on the edge of the sink until he eases himself to the floor. He considers staying there for the rest of the day, debating whether the unforgiving tile is worth not having to move again. Eventually, he decides he’s gross enough to warrant a shower, tequila oozing from every pore, and says a quick prayer of thanks that the lower level bath is a full one. He showers, leaving his sweat-stained clothes in a heap on the floor, grabbing clean briefs from the laundry room as he passes on his way to the couch. Joseph collapses back against the cushions, and his fatigue is enough to where he’s able to fall asleep before his thoughts can assail him again.

The next time he wakes, the headache has faded to a dull throb, present but not unbearable. Joseph rolls to his feet slowly, wandering off in search of actual clothes and a light meal. His stomach still doesn’t feel up to much. Mary made soup yesterday. That’ll have to do.

Joseph hears his phone the second he walks into the kitchen, buzzing with a text against the counter where he’d left it yesterday. Where was his head last night?

_With Robert._

The text is from the head minister at his church. Well, one of the texts. He also has several from Craig, and one from Mary, but the one from his boss is thankfully the newest, just a couple minutes old. Apparently, there’s a flu going around, and the older man has been hit hard. He’s asking Joseph to lead services for him tomorrow, and Joseph sighs, reluctantly responding _of course, no problem, feel better!_ , though he’d rather do anything than try to throw together a sermon today. Duty calls.

And speaking of…

The front door flies open, startling him into almost dropping his phone. Christian comes tearing into the kitchen, his siblings hot on his heels, screeching his victory. Joseph’s brain tries to melt out of his ears. Crish finds one of his hands, tugging insistently until Joseph scoops him up, throwing his arms around Joseph’s neck once he’s high enough and pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Hi, Daddy!”

“Hi, baby,” Joseph croaks, wincing at the sound of his own voice. He makes eye contact with Mary as she wanders in, much slower than her children. “What’re you guys doing back so soon?”

“Nana is sick.”

“We heard her throw up!”

“Mommy said she doesn’t want us to catch the plague.”

Joseph looks back to Mary, seeking explanation.

“Didn’t you get my text?” she asks, picking through the bowl of fruit on the table. Joseph glances guiltily toward his phone.

“I couldn’t remember where I left my phone,” he admits, not adding that he hadn’t missed it until he’d found it.

Mary rolls her eyes. “Nice. What if we’d had an emergency?” She doesn’t let him answer. “My mom is sick. There’s-”

“A flu going around, yeah,” Joseph finishes, setting Crish down now that he’s started kicking at him. “Phil just texted me. He’s out, too. Needs me to fill in tomorrow.” He tilts his head pointedly toward the kids, now amusing themselves by chasing each other around the island, shrieking every time one of them comes into view on the opposite side. “So I really need to work on a sermon.”

Mary waves him off with her half-peeled orange. “I was going to take the kids to the shelter with me anyway. See if there are any dogs that can handle all four of them.”

At the word ‘dog’, the kids stop dead in their tracks, heads turning in terrifying unison toward their mother. Joseph gets a sudden glimpse at what quadruplets would have been like and almost tricks himself into a panic attack.

“Dogs?” Chris asks, stressing the plurality. Joseph and Mary exchange a horrified look.

“ _Dog_ ,” Mary corrects him, in a tone that brooks no argument. The way their faces fall would be comical if it weren’t a little heartbreaking. Mary shoots him an exasperated glance. Joseph raises his hands innocently. “Does it make a difference?” he mouths to her, behind the kids’ backs. She shrugs, looking contemplative. Joseph thinks they may soon have more dogs than they know what to do with.

The kids eat without fuss, for once, eager to please so they can be on their way. They ply Joseph with hugs and fist bumps, racing each other back out the way they came in. The entire house seems devoid of air, like they’d taken it all with them. Joseph misses them the second they’re gone. His children are a blessing, a balm for his often ravaged soul, and every time he thinks about how a separation from Mary could cost him their everyday presence, he’s resolved once again to stay put.

A voice in his head that sounds annoyingly like Craig, minus the verbal tics, asks him what kind of toll an acrimonious marriage between their parents has on their vibrant, marvelous little personalities. Is it better to subject them to that than a shared-custody arrangement?

 _What happens if you can’t get shared custody?,_ another voice, more like his own, argues back. Joseph abhors the idea of divorce court and custody suits and bitter, underhanded fighting. The idea of airing all the their dirty laundry for public consumption terrifies him, even if he knows he can offer as much dirt on Mary as she can on him. He doesn’t want to volunteer any. He doesn’t want to fight.

 _So what do you want?_ A third voice, one that can only be Robert. That part is easy. He wants it all. He wants his kids, and his job, and his life, minus the guilt and the lies and the struggle. And he wants Robert. But he can’t have it all. Something’s gotta give. Three years ago, it was Robert. Now, though. Now… Now? Now, Joseph doesn’t know if he’s willing to keep making that sacrifice.

He _is_ willing to stop thinking about all of this, for now, because his headache is back full-force, and he hasn’t even sat down at his desk to begin his sermon yet.

Thankfully, he has a few ideas he keeps on reserve, ones that are ready to be tweaked and molded into full-blown sermons. It still takes work, hours of research to choose the right verses to support his argument. He tries to find relevant contemporary works related to the topic as well, a strategy that works well with his youth kids. Real world applications of biblical lessons always make a bigger impact than just mindlessly reciting scripture at them.

Time passes in the haze of a too-bright computer screen, endless cups of coffee, three doses of aspirin. Inspired by his mostly-joking conversation with Robert last night about humility, Joseph centers his sermon, _Humility as Interpreted by Christ_ , around Matthew 11:28-30; 28 _Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest._ _29_ _Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls_.  30 _For my yoke is easy and my burden is light_. The idea of rest for the soul, of surrendering all burdens, is infinitely appealing to Joseph, and he’s sure to every member of his congregation, as well. Absurdly, Joseph wonders if Robert will come to services tomorrow. He feels like it’s a sermon that would do Robert’s battered soul some good.

Joseph is reminded of Robert’s particular balm for a ravaged soul when Mary drops the kids off some time after 8 p.m., assuring him that they’ve already had dinner, that they just need baths and bed, before announcing she’s off to meet Robert at Jim and Kim’s. Of course. Whiskey, the cure for what ails ya.

The kids talk his ears off about the dogs and cats at the shelter all through bedtime prep, listing the things they liked about all of them (everything), and all the things they didn’t (wouldn’t let them squeeze them endlessly). He asks about their favorites, which of course incites an argument because, for kids, someone having a favorite other than _your_ favorite is a grievous personal insult. He’d been going to ask about ideas for names next, but stuff that. He’s too tired to go another ten rounds as their referee.

Joseph puts the kids to bed by working his way backward by age, settling Crish and the twins in before knocking on the door to Chris’ room. His eldest is propped up in bed, reading one of his endless superhero books. Joseph’s heart swells with pride when he sees the large ‘5’ on the top-hand corner of the cover, denoting it as a chaptered book, the last level of Chris’ “step into reading” program. His reading has improved by leaps and bounds in the last year, to the point where Joseph is surprised every day by the words in his vocabulary. Reading has helped Chris gain more confidence in speaking, giving him things to talk about and the words with which to do so. Joseph is so proud of him. He tells him that as he tucks him in beneath his Avengers comforter, pressing a kiss to his hair when he ducks his face into Joseph’s shoulder, embarrassed but pleased.

“Can I finish my book before I go to sleep, Dad?”

Joseph pauses at the door, hand on the light switch cover shaped like Captain America’s shield. Chris’ whole room is very on brand. “If you think you’ll be able to get up for church without complaining, then sure, honey.” He smiles questioningly when Chris frowns. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Chris hesitates, looking unsure. “I didn’t think we were going to church tomorrow. You look kinda sick, Dad.”

Joseph flushes, chagrined that he wasn’t able to hide his residual hangover from his kids a little better. “Daddy’s preaching tomorrow, bud. Pastor Phil is _really_ sick.”

“Oh,” Chris says, deflating a little. Joseph senses there was a reason he’d been so eager to believe they’d be missing services.

“Was there something you were wanting to do tomorrow?”

Chris shifts a little guiltily, picking at his covers in a nervous habit Joseph recognizes as one of his own. “I was gonna maybe see if I was allowed to talk to Robert about which dog he thinks is the best,” he says in a rush, Joseph needing a minute to pick out individual words.

He honestly doesn’t know how to answer Chris. Robert is undoubtedly still too sore at him to risk interaction, but Joseph knows Robert also loves his kids, however grudgingly. And Chris in particular, with whom he’s formed a special, introverted bond. Joseph knows his oldest son sometimes needs a break from his more outgoing siblings, but he isn’t always comfortable with kids his own age, either. Robert is his compromise, someone who takes him as seriously as Chris takes himself. Joseph thinks he probably won’t be able to make a decision on a dog without Robert’s input, and Robert would probably appreciate being consulted on the subject. Chris shouldn’t have to miss out just because his dad is an inarticulate asshole, seemingly only capable of disappointing those he loves.

Not his son though, if he can help it.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t we go over tomorrow _after_ church and see if Robert is home? And if he can hang out with you for a little while?”

Chris lights up like a Christmas tree, and Joseph tries to pretend he’s not a little jealous of the reaction Robert commands. In another life, or maybe in a life to come, coparenting with Robert could be a deluge of insecure moments for Joseph.

Joseph smiles at Chris one more time before turning to leave. He really still doesn’t feel all that great. He might need to rest his eyes for just a minute before putting the finishing touches on his sermon.

“Dad, wait!” Chris doesn’t sound upset, just enthusiastic, so Joseph only leans his head back in the door. “I love you.”

Well, now Joseph has to go all the way in, just to squeeze the life out of him, like he undoubtedly tried to do to all those poor shelter dogs. Chris puts up a token protest, laughing, before settling against Joseph’s chest for a long hug. “I love you too, kiddo.”

The glow of parent-child affection gives Joseph the jolt he needs to keep working, so he’s awake and downstairs at his desk when Mary comes in, some hours later. He can hear her talking to someone at the door, but the other voice doesn’t belong to Robert. It’s too high, whereas most of what Robert says sounds like a growl, especially from afar. Joseph angles his chair to peek through the curtains of the window that faces the street, catching a glimpse of the new dad on the block when he heads for home. Seems he’s as much as a barfly as Robert and Mary.

The office is just off the living room, and Mary looks surprised to see him as she passes by on her way to the kitchen. Joseph knows she’ll be back in a minute, after she’s grabbed a glass of water. Or wine, depending on how the night went.

She lingers in the doorway, glass of wine in her hand. Must have been a slow night. It’s not even that late, now that he thinks about it.

“Kids go down all right?” Mary asks, inspecting her nails when Joseph turns to look at her. He sighs, a little.

“Yeah, no problems. They had a couple little scuffles over which dog they’re bringing home, but they said they had a lot of fun.”

Mary smiles fondly. “I think they’d have brought them all home today. Kids have no discernment. Christie’s favorite is a _Brussels Griffon_.” Joseph laughs at her exaggerated shudder.

“She told me. Well, kind of. She said she loved the ‘brussel sprout’. I was afraid to ask what that even was.”

“You’re better off not knowing,” Mary assures him, laughing too.

They lapse into silence, Joseph berating himself over the fact that _that_ could be considered a decent conversation between them. It lasted less than a minute. He clears his throat, determined to try again. Causally.

"Saw the new guy walked you home. He seems nice," Joseph ventures, eyes fixed on his sermon. "You guys are...friends?"

Mary hums noncommittally, taking a sip of wine. "He hangs around with me and Robert at the bar, though I think it's only because he has an enormous crush on Rob." She's watching Joseph out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. "I'd tell him he's wasting his time, except Rob doesn't seem to mind." It doesn’t seem like she’s goading him; her voice is almost sympathetic, but Joseph stiffens anyway.

He fucking _knew_ there was more than friendship in that smile last night! He knew there was something there, from the way Robert couldn’t wait to squire him away from the encounter. Joseph tries to keep the lid on his response, trying not to overreact. Robert doesn’t belong to him. He’s the one who let Robert go in the first place. Their new neighbor is nice, even if Joseph had been sure that he and Craig were headed toward something…it doesn’t matter. He’s nice, and besides, he surely isn’t the first person Robert’s been with since they split…and boy, is that the wrong way to go about calming himself down, imagining Robert with a bevy of nameless, faceless suitors. Joseph’s fingers clench involuntarily around the pen in his hand, knuckles whiting out before he notices.  

"Well," he says eventually, once he's sure it won't come out as a squeak, "That's…good. Robert deserves some happiness."

Mary watches him full-on now, their eyes locked in extended contact. Joseph can’t tell what she’s thinking, but then again, he’s not sure he ever really could. She looks away first.

"Even if it's not with you?"

"Mary," Joseph warns, closing his eyes, throat tight.  

"No, I'm seriously asking. For fucking once, I’m seriously asking these questions," Mary says, coming over to sit on the edge of his desk. "What are we doing, Joseph?"

Joseph avoids her eye, fiddling with his papers restlessly. "I’m not sure I know what you mean." He’s scrambling, trying to head her off, purely by instinct, before he realizes what he’s doing. What he’s always done. What he can’t do anymore, not if things are ever going to change. Except now the opportunity to effect that change is presenting itself, and Joseph is afraid. Maybe too afraid to take it. But Mary’s always been braver than he is.

“Yes you do, don’t be obtuse,” Mary snaps, poking him in the shoulder. Hard. “You practically had steam coming out of your ears at the thought of Robert with that kid, and you want to act like you and I make any sense anymore?”

“He’s hardly a kid. I think he’s older than I am,” Joseph mutters, but Mary has had years of practice dealing with his digressions. She ignores him.

“Joseph. What are we _doing_?”

Joseph exhales, shakily, dropping his head into his hands. “We’re being married. We’re…trying. I know I haven’t…” Joseph swallows, buying himself some time. There are things he needs to say. Things he should have said, years ago, but he didn’t think Mary was ready to hear them. Now she is. He just has to find the will to say them. “I haven’t been the best husband.” He drops one arm to the desk, looking up at Mary. Her face is impassive. “And I know I really…I fucked up, with Robert. Not just because of this.” He gestures weakly between them. “But because I hurt _everyone_. You. Him. Me. I’m so -”   

Mary interrupts him with a soft noise, gaze steady as she drops a hand over Joseph's. "Is he the love of your life?"

Joseph gapes at her for a moment. “That’s not wha- I’m trying to tell you how sor-"

“I don’t need your apologies. I need the truth.” Mary holds fast to his hand when he tries to pull away. “Is Robert the love of your life?”

“You are my wife," Joseph grits out. "We're -"

"I know what we are!" Mary explodes, grip tightening almost painfully on Joseph's fingers, bones grinding. "I'm asking what he is." She looks at him, guileless and hurting. “Is he the love of your life?”

Joseph is quiet, avoiding the question for as long as he dares. He could have answered the question on the spot, in an instant, a chorus of affirmations. But Mary, for all they've been, is still his wife. He's quiet, trying to find a way to spare her feelings, as long as he can be. "Yes," he whispers finally, miserably. "He's the love of my life."

"Then what are we doing?" Mary whispers back, sounding just as miserable.

Joseph doesn’t have an answer. All he has are questions. "Why are you coming to me with this now? After all these years? Why," Joseph pauses, unsure how to ask it. "Why did you wait?"

Mary lets go of his hand, standing to lean against the window, face turned up as she looks outside. Joseph doesn’t push her, even if a part of him is dying to hear the answer. "I guess,” she says eventually, on the tailend of a deep sigh. “I guess a horrible, selfish part of me wanted to give you back what I felt like I'd been dealt.”

Joseph shakes his head a little, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I wanted you to feel trapped."

“You…what?” Joseph gasps, disbelieving.

Mary shrugs, looking contrite. “I didn’t say it was nice. You were screwing around with my best friend. I wanted a little revenge.”

Joseph blows out a breath. He knows he doesn’t have any right to be mad at her. He’d allowed himself to be trapped, if that’s what it was, and besides, he’d always suspected that’s how Mary felt about her life. And he’d never done anything to help her. He deserved worse, honestly. He deserves worse.

“And now?”

Mary smiles at him, very faintly. Joseph is always struck by her beauty when she smiles, even when it’s tinged with sadness, like now. He knows his kids take most of their physical traits after him, but he hopes at least one of them inherits Mary’s distingué features.

“Now we gotta figure out what the hell we’re gonna do.”

Joseph knew this is where the conversation was headed, but now that they’re here, he’s terrified again. It’s never felt real, before. The thought of moving on from this chapter in his life. Of pursuing a different book entirely. Now that a pipedream is morphing into reality, Joseph isn’t sure it’s something he can handle.

Mary, of course, sees through him in an instant. “What are you freaking out about now?”

“What aren’t I?” Joseph asks back, standing up from the desk at last, taking up the path he’s probably worn into the floor with all the pacing he does in this room. “There are so many implications to what we’re thinking of doing. So many consequences.”

Mary takes his abandoned seat, frowning up at him. “Like what?”

Joseph spins on his heel to face her, hands stretched out incredulously. “Like what?” he repeats, voice high. “Like, we’ll have to go to court, you realize? We’ll have to get separate residences. We…I’ll have to find a way to tell the church. We might have to leave town altogether! The kids -” He’s winded, panting, heart rate spiking. Mary is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Mary, what about my congregation? They’ll never understand. This is why I haven’t -- why I can’t -- why I’ve never pursued this avenue! No one wins in this scenario.”

"This is about the church? Why would you want people who don't want you?” Mary sounds genuinely confused. “Why are you trying so hard to hang on to them, at the cost of hurting people you love?"

“‘Hurting’?” Joseph repeats, incredulous. “Who the hell am I hurting by not abandoning my family and getting myself shunned from my church?”

Now Mary is looking at him like she _knows_ he’s lost it. “Robert,” she says simply, and Joseph freezes in his tracks.

 _Robert._ He’s hurting Robert. Present tense. Joseph had been operating under the assumption that it was all past tense; everything he’d done, everything he’d said, to hurt Robert. He’d done it, and now they weren’t together, and it was all in the past. But he realizes, with a clarity that unnerves him, that if Robert still feels for Joseph the way Joseph does for him, then the choices Joseph makes every day hurt Robert. Every time he goes home to someone who isn’t him. Every time he isn’t there to share in Robert’s joys, in his frustrations, his pain.

“And yourself,” Mary is saying. “And me. And the kids. A lifetime of false happiness is not better than the temporary pain of separation, Joseph. But also, I’m pretty tired of watching you suffer in silence and drag Robert down with you.”

“I don’t even know if Robert still -- if he feels the same.”

Mary snorts, loudly. “Dear, if you so much as crooked your little finger at him, Robert would come running.”

_“This is why I stay away from you.”_

That’s what Robert had said. If anyone would know how Robert feels, it’d be Mary. Joseph can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, ducking his head to hide from Mary. She sees, anyway, and scoffs at him.

“You’re a couple of idiots, you know that?”

Joseph grins at her, for real now. “I really fucked everything up, didn’t I? Not just with Robert,” he clarifies, coming to sit on the desk in front of Mary, a mirror of their earlier positions. “But us, too.”

Mary makes a so-so motion with her hand. “It takes two to tango. I prefer to think of us both as victims of the heteronormative, conventional, regulatory machinations that are at the foundations of modern religion.”

“Jesus, Mary.”

“And Joseph.”

There’s a beat. Then both of them burst into laughter, the only possible response to the absurdity of their situation. Joseph reaches for Mary, and she comes easily, her small frame getting swallowed in his embrace. They laugh until they cry, and then they just cry. For who they were, two stupid kids who thought they’d had it all figured out. Two young adults, hemmed in by the trappings of their faith, trying desperately to find satisfaction in the life they were supposed to want. Two people, bitter and resentful of the hurts they’d accused the other of inflicting, living under the same roof but as far from each other as they could be. Two people with four beautiful children and a lifetime of memories between them. Two became one become two again.

They finally pull away, tears spent. Mary looks up at him through red-rimmed eyes, as pretty as they day he’d married her. He can’t make himself regret it, even now, knowing what he knows. He doesn’t regret the beginning. He only regrets how long he’d refused to let it end. Mary smiles, like she can hear what he’s thinking. “I love you, Mar,” Joseph promises, softly.

“I know.”

 

_____________

 

Nothing happens, for a while. All the times he’d imagined it, over the years, Joseph had expected the fallout of his and Mary’s decision to separate to have immediate and devastating consequences. He’d expected both the Council of Bishops and the Judicial Council to kick in his door, revoking his ordination and condemning him to a life of penitence. He’d expected to actually _separate_ , at the very least. To find himself in some depressing little bachelor pad on the outskirts of town, with shag carpeting and peeling paint; just him and his margarita machine. Maybe a Jimmy Buffett poster. A coconut lamp.

None of those things happen, least of all the lamp. He and Mary decide to explore their options before making any drastic decisions. She’s retained a lawyer; so has he. Both out of town, lest they risk word getting around. They’re working on coming to agreements on custody, on property, on everything, really, before they request a court date. They agreed that they want the actual divorce proceedings to be as quick and painless as possible.

They haven’t told the kids. Again, they don’t want word getting around, and you can hardly trust four children under 10 to keep something like that to themselves, let alone understand the specifics of a live-in separation.

They’d let them pick out their dog. It was close, with many tears and fights, but in the end, Christie had been victorious in her campaign for the little brussel sprout dog. The kids had named her Wicket, under heavy influence from Mary. She’s a big Star Wars fan. And little Wicket does bear a striking resemblance to an ewok. And, oddly, a brussel sprout. Still, Joseph doesn’t think he’ll be _too_ upset if Mary ends up with full custody of the dog.

Nothing changes, really, except Joseph’s outlook on life. He feels like he’d been sleepwalking all his life, going through the motions of living but oblivious to all that it could entail. He approaches each day with an enthusiasm he hasn’t felt in years; possibly since his early days as a minister.

The fear is still there, threatening to overwhelm if he stays still long enough, but Joseph is working on keeping out of its reach. He spends as much time as he can with his congregation, particularly with his youth kids. He hates that their time together is counting down. This is the only aspect of his and Mary’s decision that gives him pause anymore, now that he’s relatively sure they’re going to resolve all the complications of the separation amicably.

Joseph knows he’ll be asked to step down, once he and Mary go public about their intention to divorce. Divorcees can’t hold positions in the church. Joseph knows he doesn’t need the job, in a financial sense, given the estate his parents had left him in their wills. It isn’t about needing the money, but the spiritual satisfaction he gets from sharing his faith with others. He wonders if the church would allow him to run a bible study or some other kind of weekly meeting, once he’s no longer copastor. He doubts it, but that’s a problem for another day.

For now, Joseph has been making the best of the time they have, planning activities and excursions. He’s also used it as an opportunity to get to know the new neighbor a little better; out of a sense of neighborly duty, of course, and not to fulfill the jealous urge to scope out the competition.

They’d baked and sold brownies together, like Joseph had suggested, and it had been surprisingly fun. So much so that Joseph couldn’t help but extend an invitation to help chaperone the youth dance. He’d also thought maybe Amanda, the daughter, would appreciate the chance to meet some more kids her age. The dance had gone well, after a kickstart from Joseph and his new dancing partner, and their brief sojourn into Margaritazone had been…interesting. Joseph hadn’t been able to glean any information about Robert, though, a fact he told himself repeatedly he wasn’t disappointed about.

Because Robert is the only anomaly in Joseph’s post-separation agenda. He’s still pissed at Joseph, clearly, because he’d only acquiesced to the kids’ pleas, communicated through Mary, to come meet their new dog on an evening he knew Joseph would be out of the house. Joseph knows that’s what he’d been waiting for because he’d eavesdropped on Mary’s calls with him. He’s not proud of it, but desperate times and all. Robert had been adamant that he didn’t want to see Joseph, and Mary hadn’t pressed him on it. She’s much more understanding about the whole Robert/Joseph situation than Joseph could have ever hoped for, but she draws the line at actively matchmaking for them. Joseph doesn’t blame her.

He did, however, ask her not to mention the divorce. He needs time, both to decide how he wants to go about making it up to Robert, all the mistakes and miscues and misery, and to make sure things are settled in his life before he goes trying to create a new one.

Still, it’s been nearly impossible to stay away from Robert. Joseph lies awake, some nights, fingering the key he still possesses, the one Robert had given him one day after Joseph had made him a copy of his own. Robert had pressed it into his hand without comment, kissing Joseph before he could make any kind of inquiry. Joseph thinks about using it, sometimes, just crawling into bed with Robert and letting his hands do the talking for him. If he didn’t think he might catch a knife to the gut for his trouble, Joseph might have talked himself into it more than once.

Robert puts in a request, via Mary, of course, for the kids and Wicket to start joining him and Betsy on their evening walks. The kids go wild, their sense of importance skyrocketing at the knowledge that Robert wants to spend time with them. There’s no way Joseph can say no to that, though he makes a habit of seeing the kids off the door. He shouldn’t make Robert see him, shouldn’t force him to get over his anger before he’s ready, but Joseph can’t help but want to catch a glimpse of him every day, brief as it may be. Robert never acknowledges him, no matter how hard Joseph waves.

And Joseph wouldn’t mind, really, knowing what he knows about his own plans, except he also knows that Robert isn’t a man of infinite chances. He’s a man of no chances, usually; one, if you’re lucky. And Joseph must have hit the fucking jackpot to get Robert to give him a second one, that night. He’s not sure how he’ll ever convince him to give him a third. Which is why he wants to wait until there are divorce papers in his hand before he makes his move. Make sure Robert knows he’s serious about this. Terrified, yes, but also serious.

Only it seems like Joseph may not get his way. It’s a few weeks after his fateful conversation with Mary. They’re at a graduation party for Amanda, crowded into her small back yard while her dad makes the rounds, and makes eyes at Craig every once in awhile. Joseph had lost track of who this guy had the hots for at any given moment, though Craig appears to be the one who came out on top. It’s always been pretty obvious who Craig is interested in.

Joseph is standing with Craig, teasing him about the lovesick looks just to see the blush stain his cheeks, when Mary approaches him, touching his elbow discreetly. Joseph shares a glance with Craig, mystified, and allows Mary to lead him away.

“Listen, I’ve kinda been double-fisting it at this party, and may have fucked up just a _tiny_ bit,” she says, by way of greeting.

“Okay?” Joseph says slowly, leaning into her to keep the conversation private. “Meaning what?”

She catches sight of something over his shoulder and winces, ducking away like she means to rejoin the party. Joseph catches her elbow.

“Mary?”

“You’ll see. In about five seconds,” she wagers, tugging herself free. Joseph doesn’t have time for another question before she slips away, lost to the sea of cul-de-sac dads and kids and friends.

Joseph turns away, bewildered, and nearly runs smack dab into Robert. He pulls up just in time, knees knocking into one of Robert’s own. He doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s…glowering is the only word Joseph can think of to describe it, glaring at Joseph like he’s the source of everything that’s wrong with the world. Which, fair, coming from Robert, but Joseph has no clue what prompted the sudden confrontation.

“Uh,” Joseph says, after several awkward seconds where they stand, nearly nose to nose, staring at each other. “Hi? Did you need something? Or?”

“Just wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” Robert spits, not sounding very congratulatory at all. He is _furious_ , fuck, Joseph has never seen him like this. He’s like a livewire, crackling with rage. Joseph wants to touch him, to see if he’ll get a shock.

“Uh,” Joseph says again, when Robert doesn’t offer anything else. “Thanks, I guess? Congratulations on what?”

Robert’s smile is downright nasty, and Joseph feels a thrill of trepidation at the sight. He’s not sure he wants to know whatever it is that can make Robert look like that. But it’s too late. Robert’s telling him anyway.

“On your divorce.”

Joseph opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He’s stunned, devoid of thought, like someone had reached in and hand-plucked each one of them out. He gapes at Robert, watching as the smile curves into a sneer. In the bright sunlight, Joseph notices the edges of his teeth have the slight yellowish tinge of a habitual smoker. It’s a ridiculous thing to focus on, in the moment, but Joseph has always been a little ridiculous when it comes to Robert.

“Who…how do you…?”

“Mary told me. Or let slip, I guess,” Robert amends. His voice could cut steel. “Cuz you’re not tellin’ people, right? She made that _real_ clear. That I wasn’t supposed to mention it to you.”

Joseph can see the hurt in his eyes, buried beneath layers of righteous indignation. _Goddamnit, Mary_. “I’m…not sure what to say. I had planned on telling you, I just -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robert dismisses, crossing his arms over his chest in a familiar move. It’s what he does when he feels uncomfortable. Joseph doesn’t think he can possibly be any more uncomfortable than Joseph himself. This was not how this was supposed to happen. “I guess you’re waitin’ on your boyfriend before you make the announcement. I don’t think I’ll stick around, if you don’t mind.”

He turns away from Joseph, as quickly as he’d approached, marching for the gate. Joseph spares one desperate look around for Mary, only to find her staring at him in apprehension. He points to the twins, making sure she understands that he’s asking her to watch the kids. She waves him off, frantically. Joseph doesn’t need told twice.

He catches up to Robert before he can make it back across the street, longer legs giving him the advantage.

“Robert, wait!”

“I’m done with that, thanks.”

“For the love of -- would you just stop!” Joseph grabs his shoulder, Robert spinning around instantly. His expression hasn’t changed. “What the hell were you talking about? Who’s my boyfriend? What do you -”

Robert cuts him off. "You and the new guy. That's why you're doing it, right? To be with him?" He shrugs like it makes no difference to him; he’s just stating fact.

The stress of the last few weeks must be catching up with him, because Joseph loses his temper much quicker than usual. "Robert, what the fuck are you talking about!"

Never one to take things lying down, Robert yells back. "Oh please, you think I don't know what the bake sales and the dances and the yacht trips are all about? I’m not stupid, Joe. At least you got the decency to call it off with Mary, this time."

Like he tends to do when he’s overwhelmed, Joseph picks out the most irrelevant comment he can, focusing on it above all else. "He's never been on my yacht."

Robert snorts, recrossing his arms, something terrible in his eyes. Something like malice. "That's too bad. He'd totally give it up."

"What does that mean?"

Robert shrugs. "He's easy. I banged him on like his first night in town, with no effort." He examines the nails of the hand crossed on top, idly, while Joseph’s blood turns to ice.

He’d known, of course he’d known. Mary had told him, she’d said it: _“Robert doesn’t seem to mind”_. The infatuation makes sense, if the two of them had already slept together. Joseph knows what it’s like to be desperate for a modicum of Robert’s attention. But there’s something else, something that had never occurred to Joseph before, but does now, over and over until he feels like he's going to be sick from it.

"So...wait, are you…" the word sticks like bile in his throat, "...jealous?" Joseph's heart sinks when Robert flinches, like he’s guilty. "Over him or? Is that what this is? Do you..." Another pause, his throat working convulsively. "Do you want him?" Joseph doesn’t know if he’ll be able to step aside, if that’s the case, except what else can he do? Challenge the guy to a duel in the streets? He does have a good four inches and at least 30 pounds on him, but-

Robert’s head snaps up, eyes ablaze. "What the shit are you talking about? Of course I don't fucking want him!" He throws up his hands, exasperated. "I don't even know his fucking name!"

"It's -" Joseph starts to say, magnanimous to a fault, but Robert cuts him off.

"I don't fucking _care_ what his fucking _name_ is," he stresses, looking haggard. “I don’t fucking care about him at all. I don’t know why I even -” He stops himself, shaking his head. There's something, then; a flicker of hope, maybe, deep in Joseph's chest. Robert had flinched when he accused him of being jealous. He’d flinched, like he was, but if it’s not for…

"So, then what? Is it me? Are you angry because it’s me?" Joseph hedges, more nervous than he's ever been in his life, and he has four children. "Robert?"

Robert won't meet his eye, but Joseph tries to press on anyway.

“Because if -”

“Do we have to do this?” Robert interrupts, looking positively miserable. Joseph wants to touch him so badly his hands ache.

“I was just going to say that -”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you were.”

Joseph explodes again, all emotions on easy recall. “Why do you do that! Why do you always cut me off like you don’t need to hear what I have to say!” he fumes, too angry to remember the admonition he gives his children: No one does something ‘always’ or ‘never’. Try not to accuse them of it. “You did it the other morning, and you’re doing it now!”

“Because it ain’t nothin’ I haven’t heard before!” Robert yells back, like they’re not standing in the middle of the street, in front of God and everyone. Thankfully, everyone is back at the party, subjected to Amanda’s bass-boosted playlist. No one has come investigating the source of the ruckus, anyway. “It’ll be some sorry-ass excuse or some half-ass apology or some dumb-ass justification. And I don’t need to hear it!”

Joseph bites the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. Robert has a right to be hurt; to lash out. God knows Joseph has. But he also needs to hear what Joseph has to say.

“That’s fair, okay, I know it’s fair. But that’s not what this is. Robert.” The older man shakes his head, looking pained. “I’m trying to tell you that I…”

“You what?” Robert prompts. His voice is low, still angry. He’s just so angry. And hurt, Joseph knows; hurt and trying to hide it.

“Well, first, I just need you to…Robert, just answer my goddamn question.”

Robert looks at the ground, breathing heavily. “I don’t remember your goddamn question.”

“Yes you do,” Joseph says gently, but he repeats himself, regardless. “Is it me? Because it's you." Robert looks up again, startled. Joseph tries to smile. "You know, for me. It's you.”

Robert’s shoulders tighten, drawn into a tense line around his ears. “How can you say that to me, after everything?” He doesn’t sound angry anymore, just resigned.

“After everything, how can I not?” Joseph wills him to understand, to see how sincere he is. Robert’s not stupid, and Joseph isn’t subtle. Joseph knows he has to know how he feels. How he’s always felt.

After a moment, Robert gives a jerky nod. “What about you and…?”

“There _is_ no ‘me and…’, okay? I don’t fucking care about him. At all,” Joseph parrots Robert’s earlier succinct statement. Robert huffs a breath. “I told you, it’s you for me. And if it's me for you, then..." Joseph lets the sentence hang, heavy with implication.

"Then what?" Robert rasps, like it takes everything in him to ask. He made himself vulnerable once, years ago, and Joseph can feel his fear of getting crushed again like a third person with them in the street. "What happens with you and the new guy, Joe? Because he’s gonna be pretty hung up on you."

Joseph rolls his eyes. "Can you please let that go? There’s nothing between us! I thought maybe there was something between you and him, but you just said…besides, anyone with eyes can see he's in love with Craig. You've got eyes, don't you?"

"Maybe I just happen to think that anyone with eyes should be in love with you."

Robert is looking at him straight-on now, something like relief in his features. Like a weight has been lifted. Like he’d really thought there’d ever been anyone but him. He’s an idiot.

Joseph surges forward, intending to kiss Robert within an inch of his goddamn life, but Robert stops him with just the tips of his fingers pressed to Joseph’s chest.

“Why now?”

They’re whispering now, apparently, the contrast to the earlier shouting stark, making every word seem that much more important.

“Why now what?” Joseph asks back, eyes searching Robert’s own. He’s in his boots and Joseph is in loafers, so they’re almost of a height. It would take no effort at all to lean in, find his mouth, rough and warm and so much what Joseph wants.

Robert puts an inch of space between them, but it might as well be a mile, for all Joseph feels it. “If it’s me for you, you could have gotten divorced three years ago; hell, _seven_ years ago. But you didn’t. So what happened to the church and the kids and the reputation?”

It’s a fair question, one Joseph had known he’d need to prepare for, back when he thought they’d be having this conversation on his terms. What’s that saying? ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans’? Joseph has never resented an adage more. He tries to improvise an answer, but he can come up with is what’s in his heart. And he does value honesty, so.

“Because I realized that I could keep all that, but it was never going to be enough. You know?” Joseph takes a breath, frustrated he doesn’t know how to put it. “Like the song? Everything is everything, but you’re missing.”

There’s a beat.

“Did you just quote Springsteen to me?”

Joseph laughs, a little watery. “You’re not impressed? Maybe some McCartney, instead? _‘I was only waiting for a better moment that didn’t come. There never could be a better moment than this one’_?”

“...better.”

“Yeah? I’d have led with something Santana but I only know that _Oye Como Va_ one and I’m not sure if that one even applies because I don’t speak Spanish.”

“God,” Robert breathes, letting his hand fall away, “shut up.” 

Joseph doesn’t need to be told twice. There’s more to say; there’s _everything_ to say, but it’ll still be there, ready to be said, after he’s gotten Robert back in his arms. He bends to kiss him, for all he’s worth, for all he’s done, but at the last second, Robert ducks away. The sound Joseph makes would embarrass him under better circumstances, but he is devastated, and Robert needs to know.

Robert is unimpressed. “You wanna have this little reunion redeux right here in the street?” he asks, dryly. “Because I’m down for some exhibitionism, but we got a lot of kids living on this block."

Joseph slides a hand in his salt-and-pepper hair, tipping his head back to meet Joseph’s eyes. “God, shut up.”

Joseph catches Robert’s grin with his mouth, and it’s better than their most recent first kiss by far. Joseph isn’t drunk, for one, so he’s able to fully appreciate Robert’s perpetually chapped lips, the flutter of his breath against Joseph’s face, the brush of his nose along Joseph’s cheekbone as he shifts for a better angle. It isn’t just another in a long string of clandestine encounters, for two. It’s a new beginning to an old story; one that, for the longest time, Joseph thought was over, the unhappy ending that no one wants to acknowledge sometimes happens. Thank God for what is shaping up to be a third chance.

They kiss for just a moment, maybe the space of three accelerated heartbeats before Robert pulls away, catching Joseph by the hand. “I’m serious, I ain’t doin’ this here.” He fixes Joseph with a stern look. “So come in or get lost, Joseph.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” Joseph pauses, considers. “In fact, I think it’s safe to say you’re never getting rid of me again.” He allows himself to be led, across the street and up the steps and through the door, Robert never hesitating until they’re safely shut in, deadbolt on. Then he turns around, facing Joseph where he stands in the entryway, alight with happy tension.

Robert rolls his eyes, stepping around Joseph’s outstretched hands and into the living room. “You want something to drink?’

Joseph blinks, confused by the shift in momentum. “What? No, I don’t want…I thought we were…I mean?”

Robert shoots him an amused look from the little drink cart against the far wall, glass and decanter of whiskey in hand. He tilts it in Joseph’s direction, one eyebrow raised, but Joseph shakes his head. He’s done with hard liquor for a while. Possibly forever.  

“Did you think I was gonna let you get away with just feeding me a couple cheesy lines?” Robert asks, conversationally, sitting in an armchair and pointing firmly toward the couch when Joseph takes a step toward him. “I want the deets.”

Joseph sinks onto the couch, petulant. Robert’s expression tells him he doesn’t feel bad. “I don’t know what else there is to tell you.”

“Start with whatever it was I wouldn’t let you say, that morning after my birthday.”

”So you admit that you’re always interrupting me?” Joseph teases half-heartedly. Robert narrows his eyes.

”I may have slightly overreacted,” he allows, clearly seeing it as some kind of grand gesture. Joseph gives it to him.

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. Robert’s watching him over the rim of his glass, eyes serious. Joseph runs a hand over his mouth, pinching his lower lip, trying to get his mind off Robert’s hands and eyes, but it’s difficult when he’s looking at him like that.

“You said you didn’t want it.”

Joseph glances up at him. Robert offers him that grimace that he clearly thinks counts as a smile, continuing. “You said it shouldn’t have happened. I thought -- how else was I supposed to interpret that?”

“I said…” Joseph trails off, trying to remember exactly what he had said. He knows he’d said it _wrong_ , in any case, unable to convey his meaning before Robert had stormed out. “I said it wasn’t what I had planned. I just meant that I had a plan, and I wasn’t following my own plan. Not that I didn’t want you. Robert,” Joseph leans forward, eyes intent on Robert’s face, “I’ve never not wanted you. Ever,” he adds, when Robert makes a disbelieving sound. “Even when I didn’t know how I wanted you, I wanted you.”

“You know now?” Robert asks, quietly. Joseph nods. Robert lets out a relieved breath, nodding back. “So what was the plan, then?”

“Can you at least come sit over here, if you’re gonna make me talk about all this?” Joseph complains, shifting restlessly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this frustrating for you? Being made to stay away?” Robert sounds amused, not bitter, but Joseph still feels put out. He brightens when Robert stands, but Robert just winks at him, going over to refill his drink. Joseph starts to whine his name, mollified only slightly when Robert perches on the arm of the couch, the one opposite of Joseph’s end.

“Are you going to punish me for the rest of my life?” Joseph asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Robert shrugs, chewing thoughtfully on the piece of ice left over from his previous glass. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether I’m around.” He sneaks a look at Joseph out of the corner of his eye, like he’s unsure. Joseph hates the reservation in his tone, knowing he’s the one who put it there. He slides closer to Robert’s end of the couch, reaching out to place a tentative hand on his knee. Robert nods in response to his questioning look, and Joseph breathes a sigh, rubbing his thumb over the bony protrusion of Robert’s kneecap.

“I hope you’re around,” Joseph tells him, tipping his head back to meet his eye. “You’re kinda it for me, you know? I’ll be shit out of luck without you.”

Robert laughs, covering the hand on his knee and squeezing briefly before shoving it off. “Don’t distract me. Tell what your plan was, the one you fucked up by trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me. Or was that it?”

Joseph heaves a breath, bringing a hand up to grip the back of his neck. “Well the plan _was_ , before Mary and I both managed, at separate points, to screw it up, was to sort of…” Joseph blushes, a little, muttering, “woo you.”

Robert’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks positively delighted. Evilly delighted. Joseph groans. “You were going to ‘woo’ me?” Robert says, in a high-pitched voice, putting fingers quotes around the word. He’s using his Joseph voice. “Oh, man, that’s…yeah, I’m gonna need to see how that would’ve gone.”

“You’re already wooed,” Joseph whines, glaring at Robert as he continues to laugh. “I forgot you’re basically a pushover for me. I thought I was going to have to do all this work to convince you that -“

“Oh, now you are.”

“Robert…”

“Hey, it might be my last shot at being wooed. And I think I deserve to be wooed.” He fixes Joseph with a look. “Don’t you think I deserve to be wooed?”

“I think you better stop saying ‘wooed’ before I make you.” Joseph pinches him, and a small scuffle ensues, Joseph trying to pull Robert down on top of him while Robert struggles, pushing a hand against his face.

Joseph finally concedes, letting Robert straighten up out of the semi-headlock he’d had him in. Robert just grins at him, deflecting every touch Joseph tries to land. Joseph blows out another breath. “So, what, like over a period of time or?”

Robert looks contemplative. “What was the original plan?”

“I don’t know!” Joseph says, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I was working on it, okay, before Mary got sloshed and just started _telling_ you shit.” He’s not too upset over it, really, because Robert is, so far, much more amenable that Joseph had expected but. It would have been nice to have this conversation when Joseph felt better prepared for it. When Joseph was single again, at the very least. “I wanted to have my life together before I came over and complicated yours.”

Robert makes a surprised noise. “The divorce, you mean?”

Joseph nods. “The divorce, the fallout with the church, finding somewhere to live.” He shrugs, giving Robert a wane smile. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with my mess. I wanted to be able to come to you a free man, you know? No drama.”

Robert doesn’t return his smile. He looks, if anything, a little angry again. Joseph is taken aback, not sure what he could have said to cause it. “You didn’t think that maybe I’d want to be _with_ you for all that?” Robert asks tightly.

Joseph blinks. “Well, no,” he answers honestly. “Why would you?”

Robert stands up suddenly, surprising Joseph. He goes for another splash of whiskey, pounding it instead of sipping, like he had with the other two. Joseph eyes him warily from his place on the couch as Robert begins to pace around the messy living room, agitation bleeding through each of his movements.

“Robert?” Joseph ventures, finally, when Robert has made a few passes.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Robert asks in a rush, not giving Joseph time to reply. “What do you think this is? What do you think I want from this?”

Joseph makes a helpless gesture when Robert shoots him a look, waiting for an answer. Robert tugs at his hair, frustrated.

“You act like I don’t know who you are. Like I don’t understand that your life is complicated, that there are things that come with the territory where you’re concerned.” Robert stops in front of him, hands on his hips. “Do you think I just look at you as some kind of booty call?”

“I don’t know!” Joseph says, unsure what Robert’s asking him. “I just didn’t want to burden you with all my shit!”

“But I want you to!” Robert shouts, then looks like he regrets yelling. He sighs, dropping back down on the couch, closer to Joseph this time. He takes one of Joseph’s hands in both of his, forcing Joseph to meet his eye. “Joe, I get it, okay? I understand what being with you entails. I know you’re gonna bring the kids and the church and the ex-wife because they’re part of who you are. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to…I don’t know, conceal the important parts of yourself so that I don’t get all squirrely about how troublesome being with you is.” Robert drops his hand, bringing his up to frame Joseph’s face. “I know you. I want _you_ , not some idealized version of you, okay?” He smiles, thumbs sweeping over Joseph’s cheeks. “Besides, I’m kinda fond of the kids.”

Joseph closes his eyes, leaning into Robert’s touch. “So, what you’re saying,” he begins, throat thick with emotion, “is you want a _relationship_ with me.” He opens his eyes, grinning at Robert faintly. “You want to be my _boyfriend_.”

Robert groans, collapsing dramatically against the back of the couch, an arm flung over his eyes. “I’m too old to be anyone’s ‘boy’-anything,” he grumbles, letting Joseph drag his arm down, meeting his smile with narrowed eyes. He shifts accommodatingly when Joseph swings a leg over him, settling in his lap, hands braced on his shoulders.

“You know, speaking of, it’s not too late to change your mind about letting me get you a birthday present,” Joseph says, letting his thumbs trace across the exposed bits of Robert’s collarbone. Robert’s hands come up to settle, low, on his hips, his own thumbs pressing against bone.

“Thought you already did? When you -- oh.” Robert cuts himself off, letting his head drop back when Joseph grinds down, heavy with suggestion. “ _That_ kind of present.”

“You have,” Joseph whispers, leaning in to press kisses to the hinge of his jaw, “a dirty mind. I was talking about a nice set of kitchen knives or a-” Joseph’s silenced when Robert fists a hand in his hair, yanking his head up to meet Robert’s mouth.

Usually, when you go long enough without something, you start to build it up in your mind to better than it really was. Good becomes great becomes amazing becomes disappointing, once you actually have it again. This is not one of those times.

Joseph wasn’t aware of how much he _missed_ Robert, his presence and his personality and his physicality, until he’s with him again. Robert’s touch is possessive and possessing. He’s being careful, slow and methodical, kissing Joseph in all the ways he likes best; tongue against his teeth, teasing the swell of his bottom lip; sharp, with more teeth than lips; deep and hard, until Joseph has to open his eyes to check that he’s not going to let him suffocate.

Robert’s eyes are already open, startling Joseph when he looks straight into them. He pulls away, panting. “You’re staring at me?”

“Just checking,” Robert tells him, running a thumb over Joseph’s mouth. He slips his fingers into the hair behind Joseph’s ears, clutching the short strands tight. Joseph shivers, following the inexorable pull back into their kiss.

“Making sure I’m not gonna bolt?” he asks, slightly muffled. Robert gives him a little nip, soothing over the spot with his tongue.

“Making sure you’re real.” Robert smiles when Joseph pulls back, lips barely brushing. “I’ve had a lot of dreams start like this, you know.”

Joseph does know, intimately. Knows what it’s like to wake up from a dream where the other person was so real, it’s hard to convince yourself that they weren’t just there. “You want me to make a couple of those dreams come true?”

“Jesus Christ,” Robert groans, turning his face when Joseph leans in to kiss him again. “I forgot how unbelievably lame you are.”

Joseph laughs into his neck, harder than the joke warrants. The laughter is a release, like it had been with Mary. It’s uncontrollable for a minute, Robert rubbing circles into his back, bemused. “You okay, baby?”

At the name, Joseph lifts his head, tears in his eyes, nodding quickly. “Yeah,” he gasps, letting Robert trace a finger over the dampness. “I just remembered something I want to tell you: Don’t call me ‘preach’ anymore.”

Robert’s face twitches, like he’s not sure if it’s a joke, if he’s supposed to laugh.

“I just…missed all the names,” Joseph admits, settling closer to him, like there’s any closer to be had. “And it felt like that one was a substitute for the others and I, like, _really_ hate it.” Robert does laugh, then, leaning up to kiss him again.

“You got it, baby.” He helps Joseph when he goes to stand, supporting his weight and then leaving his hands on his hips, smiling up at him. “Goin’ somewhere?”

“I’m three years older than when we used to do this,” Joseph says, linking their fingers and using the grip to tug Robert up off the couch. “I’m too old for couch sex.”

“You’re never too old for couch sex,” Robert argues, letting Joseph lead him through the wreckage of the living room. Some things never change.

Joseph doesn’t answer, just marches them upstairs. They’re more subdued than he expected them to be; he’d expected their second first time to be frenzied, pent-up lust driving them to be fast and harsh and unrelenting. But it’s been an emotional few months for both of them, years if they’re being perfectly honest, and Joseph is drained. He really just wants to lie back on Robert’s surprisingly soft mattress and let him take care of him. And then maybe hold him while he sleeps for a week.

He turns just inside the threshold to Robert’s room, dropping his hand to lift his own arms over his head in invitation. Robert doesn’t need to be told twice. He presses both hands, palms flat, into Joseph’s hips, dragging them up slowly, taking the shirt with them. He stretches all the way up Joseph’s raised arms, dropping the shirt but catching his hands, bringing them to the hem of his own shirt.

They go like that, peeling each other out of various items of clothing until they’re naked. Joseph can’t help noticing how different this is from last time. He’d been too drunk to focus on anything, missing the electric drag of Robert’s fingers over his stomach, the appreciative heat in his eyes, the feel of his still too-thin ribs under his own hands. Robert’s fingers find the marks on his hip again, like he’s trying to reconcile the image of Joseph he’d had in his head all the years with the changes he’s faced with. Joseph’s surprised when he drops to his knees, pressing his mouth to the scars.

Robert glances up at him, wicked gleam in his eyes. “I just realized, it’s probably been a long time for you, huh?” He sucks a mark into the hollow of Joseph’s hip, and Joseph has to struggle for words.

“You know how long it’s been, you assh- ohh.” Joseph drops his head back, words bleeding into a low moan when Robert sucks the head of his cock into his mouth with no warning. He’s reminded of just how long it’s been when the simple suction has spots blackening his vision in no time. This is going to be over embarrassingly quick, a fact Robert seems to have caught on to.

“Still young enough to get it back up?” he pulls away to ask, taking in more of Joseph on his next attempt. Joseph can’t even think in full sentences at this point.

“I’m…fuck, probably. Just don’t…Rob, fuck…if you don’t wanna risk it, you gotta stop.”

Robert makes a dissenting little sound, gripping Joseph at the base of his cock to get a better angle, back of his throat opening easily when Joseph pushes deeper. Joseph grunts, a little, unable to believe how good it feels, how good Robert is at this. How fast he’s going to come, fuck, especially when Robert redoubles his efforts, sucking continuously on every pass back up, letting Joseph fuck his throat on each inward press.  

Joseph holds his shoulders, his hair, bites his lip and tries to think of anything other than how good it feels, but it’s a lost cause. “Robert,” he says, warningly. Then again, when Robert ignores him. “Robbie, I’m…please, I’m -”

“Good. Go ahead,” Robert pulls up long enough to say before diving back in, taking hold of Joseph’s hands to set them in his hair, encouraging Joseph to push his head down. Again, Joseph doesn’t need to be told twice.

He gasps hard enough to hurt, holding his breath, holding Robert’s head down, holding himself still as he comes, way at the back of Robert’s throat. To his credit, Robert only coughs a little when Joseph finally lets him up, running a hand over his hair in apology.

Joseph takes two shaky steps backwards to sink down on the edge of the bed. Robert rests back on his heels, kneeling in the middle of the room, and smiles at him. Joseph stares at the picture he makes, naked and hard, dark skin made darker by the hair on his chest and stomach, legs and arms and groin. The room is bathed in sunlight, for once, bringing out the highlights in Robert’s brown eyes, glinting off the silver streaked through his hair and beard. He’s lean but strong, body refusing to be caught in middle age’s steady decline just yet. The breadth of his shoulders has always made Joseph’s mouth water. He swallows convulsively, looking at him.

“Come here,” Joseph murmurs, holding a hand out for him. Robert stands, wincing and then laughing at the sound his knees make. He takes Joseph’s proffered hand, twisting their fingers together. Joseph kisses his tattoo, the altar he worships at in the temple of Robert’s body.

Robert presses him back into the bed, stretching along his body in an echo of the last time they were here, before Joseph passed out. There’s no crush of sleep, now, just a pleasant lethargy brought on by his recent orgasm. Robert’s touch is still amorous enough that Joseph feels energized, meeting his kisses with enthusiasm, letting Robert grind his erection against Joseph’s temporarily sated length.

“What do you want?” Joseph asks, after several long minutes where it seems Robert is content just to go on kissing him. He’s most likely trying to give Joseph time to recover, maybe waiting to see if he even can, which is a valid concern; refractory periods only worsen with age, after all. But he needn’t worry. Joseph can already feel the telltale first stirrings of arousal, trapped beneath Robert’s hard, warm body, with Robert’s soft, warm tongue in his mouth and ear.  

Robert hums, mouth at the shell of Joseph’s ear, tonguing the cartilage. Joseph arches into his touch, hands at his nape and the small of his back, encouraging the press of his hips into Joseph’s own. “What’re you up for?” Robert asks back before glancing down, answering his own question. “Not much, at the moment.”

Joseph pinches his ass, relishing his jerk of surprise. “I’m getting there, shut up.”

“What do you want, then?”

“Anything,” Joseph breathes, and means it. He wants Robert, in whatever capacity he can have him.

“You’re always doin’ that, you know?” Robert bitches, biting him on the shoulder, right over the tattoo, hard enough to bruise. “Making me make all the decisions. Maybe sometimes I want to just lie back and take whatever you give me.” His grins when Joseph inhales sharply, cock giving a feeble little twitch. “Oh yeah? Like the sound of that, do you?” It’s incredible, really, the innocence in his tone, given their situation. Given the nature of the question itself.

But the fact of the matter remains that yes, Joseph very much likes the sound of that. And Robert knew it before he said it. He’s been privy to Joseph’s…proclivities for years. Hell, he’d spent half their brief affair tied to Joseph’s headboard.

So Joseph knows he’s expecting it when Joseph reverses their positions, flipping Robert to the mattress in a practiced move. It’s been awhile since he’s done it, but muscle memory is a very real thing. Robert goes easily, like he always has, grinning up at Joseph from on his back. Joseph kisses him, possessively, messily, for just a minute before sliding off the end of the bed. Robert’s eyes are dark as Joseph looms over him, anticipation etched in the fine lines of his face. “Goin’ somewhere?”

“I need lube,” Joseph says, nodding when Robert points to the bathroom. “And condoms,” he adds, fixing Robert with a look. Robert rolls his eyes.

“Medicine cabinet, you know this. It hasn’t been _that_ long.”

“Long enough,” Joseph insists. They share a significant look, Joseph trying to convey his remorse without words. Finally, Robert blows out a breath, nodding at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Now quit killin’ the mood.”

Joseph obeys, darting into the bathroom to grab the necessary supplies, smiling at his general state of dishevelment when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Who even is he when he isn’t trying to hide the marks Robert leaves scattered across his neck and shoulders? He hopes he never has to find out again.

Robert’s kept himself occupied in Joseph’s absence, propped up in bed with one hand behind his head, the other lazily fisting his cock. The sight of the tattoo on that hand, dark ink contrasting with the lighter skin of his dick, sends all the blood in Joseph’s head rushing south, leaving him dizzy and half-hard again already. Robert isn’t even touching him, a fact he seems inordinately pleased with when he notices Joseph’s state.

“See something you like?” he asks, in his best porn star impersonation. Joseph throws the lube at him. He catches it easily, one-handed, because he’s Robert. “This for me?” he asks, without inflection. Joseph knows he really doesn’t care, either way, but it’s been three years, and Joseph really just wants Robert in him. He shakes his head, crawling up to settle himself in Robert’s lap.

“No,” he clarifies, tucking the condom in his hand under the pillow behind Robert, so it doesn’t get lost before they need it. “Unless you want to help. But you better do a good job, because I plan on riding you into this mattress.”

Robert groans helplessly against his mouth when Joseph forces his head back, into another kiss. His hands reach behind Joseph to get ahold of his ass, squeezing meaningfully. “You still got the best ass in Massachusetts. Mass ass,” he laughs, not even ducking when Joseph goes to hit him. He deserves it. “Can’t wait to be inside it,” he adds, more serious.

Joseph nods his agreement, tilting into Robert’s grasp enticingly. “Please.”

Robert doesn’t make him ask again. He’s careful, almost as careful as the first time they fucked, kissing Joseph through the prep, making him comfortably take three fingers before he’ll listen to Joseph’s increasingly whiny assurances that he’s _ready, Robert, honestly._ Joseph tears the condom open for him, knowing Robert’s tendency to use his teeth, rolling it on him and realizing, with a pang of regret, that it’s the first he’s got a hand on his cock today. The thought fades when Robert takes hold of his hips again, not guiding so much as anchoring. Joseph lifts up, knees digging furrows into the mattress, reaching down to pull Robert’s cock up, positioning himself over it before sinking down.

It’s slow, agonizingly so, but Joseph can only go so fast after so long a time since he’d last done this. Robert’s jaw is clamped tight with the effort of staying still, of letting Joseph go at his own pace, bringing dots of sweat out on his brow. Joseph kisses them, tongue chasing the salty taste. They sigh in unison when the head of Robert’s cock finally breaches that first ring of muscle. The slide becomes that much smoother, after, and Joseph lets himself fall until his ass meets the tops of Robert’s thighs. His own thighs are trembling, slightly. Robert runs his hands over them, kissing Joseph’s shoulders and collarbones soothingly.

“Just need a second,” Joseph grits out, trying to remember to breathe through the stretch. It’s not painful in an obvious way, not in a way that would make him want to move away, but he can already tell he’s going to be feeling this in the morning. “Just a second.”

“Ain’t no rush, darlin’,” Robert shushes him, letting his fingers brush Joseph’s flagging erection. At Joseph’s hiss of breath, Robert tightens his grip, tugging ever so lightly. Joseph’s hips automatically follow the movement, shifting Robert’s cock inside of him. It punches the air from his lungs, even that small action, and Joseph is suddenly ready for more.

He lifts up, feeling every inch of drag as he goes, dropping back into Robert’s lap with controlled force. Robert curses, head tipping back with pleasure. Joseph wants to hear him, every curse and whisper and sigh, so he makes his next movement bigger, rocking down into him with compulsion. Robert’s hips rise to meet him on his next thrust, as much as they can under Joseph’s weight, then again and again, until they’re moving together in earnest.

Joseph is the one sweating now. He can see the sheen of it on his chest, feel it dripping into his eyes, slips against it where his thighs are pressed into Robert’s. Robert notices, too, leaning in to lick it from his shoulders, tongue trailing across Joseph’s chest until he takes a nipple in his mouth and bites down. Joseph shouts, caught off guard. Robert grins at him, heavy flush in his cheeks. Joseph bears down on him in retribution.

“Fuck, Joe, you’re killin’ me.”

“I told you,” Joseph grunts, picking up speed as he senses Robert getting close, “into the mattress.” He makes good on his promise, leaning back with his hands braced on Robert’s shins, riding him vigorously now. Robert rests one hand on his hip to help his balance, the other taking Joseph back in hand, pulling along with the movement of Joseph’s hips.

It’s over in a matter of moments for both of them. Joseph, suddenly, without warning, stilling in Robert’s lap as he shudders through it. Robert, holding him close, pressing up into him as deep as he can go, mumbling filth in Joseph’s ear as Joseph gasps his name.

Joseph slumps forward against Robert’s chest, resting his cheek in his sweaty hair. Robert holds him loosely, hands linked at the small of his back, breathing heavily. The room is growing darker around them as evening falls. Joseph spares a thought for his kids, probably wondering where he’d gone, but they have their mother (he hopes) and their dog. They’ll be all right for just a little while longer. They’ll have to be because Joseph, sitting in Robert’s lap, release cooling between them, satisfying ache between his legs, isn’t going anywhere just yet.

Eventually, they shift; Robert lays Joseph to the side, rolling off the bed in search of a towel. He returns from the bathroom with a damp one, cleaning carefully between Joseph’s legs and across his stomach, stretching out on his back beside him when he’s finished.

They lie there, side by side on their backs in the quiet room, listening to each other breathe. Joseph reaches across the scant space for Robert’s hand. He gives it, easily, thumb rubbing circles into the back of Joseph’s.

Joseph closes his eyes, knowing he won’t sleep, not so long as Robert is awake. It just feels good to be still, for a moment or two.

Robert disturbs the quiet first, because of course he does. Joseph feels him turn his head to look over at him. Joseph keeps his eyes closed. Robert watches him for a minute, gaze burning into his profile. Then he heaves a sigh, the gust of air brushing across Joseph’s face.

“So you and me, huh?” Robert says, softly, grip going tight around Joseph’s hand in his. “Think it’ll ever work?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe how long this is but there was so much i needed to say. i wrote like the last 10k in one setting so it's probably a grammatical nightmare. thank you so much to everyone who waited for this. your patience and interest is what got this finished. please leave comments, if you want, because i love hearing from you
> 
> title from here [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KKtxLTrXRK8/) but their whole album is honestly prime roseph content. there's a little reference to 'out of my mind' in here too
> 
> i also have a roseph sideblog [x](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/), if anyone's interested! send me some prompts and i'll see what i can do with posting more fic. thank you so much for reading


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